


This Burden In My Hand

by Reddwarfer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season Nine, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human!Castiel - Freeform, Kid!Fic, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddwarfer/pseuds/Reddwarfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to save Sam, Dean's forced to make a difficult choice. Dean now needs to balance figuring out what to do about a now-human Cas, demons, angels, and everything else life tends to throw at him with taking care of his brother, who needs him now more than ever. Can he finally get past his self-hatred, guilt, and inability to let go in order to give Sam the life he always deserved? Or will he follow in his father's footsteps. Castiel is determined that whatever happens, Dean won't have to deal with it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Choices

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story before season nine even aired. And once it did, I was even more determined to ignore everything that's happened so far. So, basically, if it happened in Season Nine, it probably won't show up in here. This story will be updated every seven days or so until it's finished.
> 
> The rating will go up eventually, but not for a while. 
> 
> This story is written for, and also beta-read by, DJ, my dearest friend. 
> 
> If you think I'm missing any tags, feel free to let me know.

Only twenty minutes had passed since Dean had finally got back on the road, Sam safely in the passenger seat and Crowley locked tight in the trunk, when the familiar opening bars of "Wherever I May Roam"drifted from the speakers. Dean waited for the inevitable bitching from Sam—who hated the song, said it reminded him too much of Dad—but nothing but silence greeted him. Dean turned slightly to look at him, and saw him tilted in his seat, face pressed against the glass of the window, eyes closed.

Sam could just be sleeping, but something unpleasant roiled in Dean's gut. He reached over and gripped his shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Wake up, sunshine, it's your favorite song," he said with a strained laugh. Sam didn't even twitch. "Sam. Sammy. C'mon now, wake up. Wake up!"

Dean quickly pulled over to the side of the road and turned more fully toward Sam, shaking him with a little more force. "Sammy, you gotta wake up. C'mon, _please_." Dean now could see Sam's chest barely rising, his pulse sluggish under Dean's fingers. He sent a quick prayer to Cas as he pulled back onto the road, mentally calculating how long it'd take for him to get to the nearest hospital. Twenty minutes, maybe less if he disregarded the speed limit in a way he normally would avoid.

He pulled out his cellphone simultaneously watching the road as well as Sam, making sure he was still breathing. He tried the last cell phone number he had for Cas, but only got a tinny voice saying the phone wasn't in the coverage area.

"Damn it," Dean cursed under his breath. He saw the lights of the town in the distance, and pressed down on the gas. He'd try to reach Cas after he got Sam to the hospital. By then, the bastard had better have his damned ears on.

When he finally pulled into the ambulance bay of the hospital, he was grateful to see young, bored orderly smoking nearby. He got out of the car quickly, and yelled, "A little help over here," as he ran to the passenger door, and threw it open. He caught Sam before he could fall to the ground, and held him up until the orderly he'd yelled at brought around a wheelchair.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" the orderly—Casey, name tag read—asked, eyes darting over Sam's face.

Dean just shook his head. "He passed out about fifteen minutes ago, while we were on the road.

Casey nodded absently, and pushed Sam quickly through the door, yelling for the nurse to come help. Within moments, a bevy of nurses and a doctor arrived and they got Sam situated on a gurney, and pushed him through a set of doors leading to the emergency ward.

Dean made a move towards the doors, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm. "Can you answer some questions for us?" someone asked from the left of him. Dean tore his eyes away from the doors where Sam had disappeared over to the middle-aged nurse talking to him. She had a tired smile and dirty brown hair. "My name is Jane and it'd help us if we knew more about the man you just brought in."

"My brother," Dean bit out, pulling out their latest set of fake ids. His eyes darted down at them in reminder before giving the name on the card "Kirk. He's...uh. Not well. I don't know why," Dean lied. But there wasn't much he could say that wouldn't leave him in the hands of an unwanted psych consult. "He passed out while I was driving us home."

"And where were you prior to that?" Jane asked, frowning as she scribbled down something on the chart she held.

Dean glanced down. "We were visiting a friend."

"Okay. Did he eat anything or drink anything recently?"

"Um," Dean said, trying to remember the last time he ate as his stomach growled at the reminder he'd been ignoring it. "Not that I know of."

"Okay, and can you give me any relevant medical history?" Jane's frown increased, clearly hoping that Dean could have at least provided a little insight into why Sam arrived in the condition he did.

"Yeah, sure, just gimme the form to look at, but can you find out how...uh," Sammy, he almost said, "Kirk's doing for me?" Dean asked, anxiety settling on his shoulder like a long lost friend.

"As soon as there's any information to be had," Jane assured, "but it would help us to have his medical history..."

Dean restrained himself from yelling at the lady as he quickly rattled off the information. He itched with the need to look at Sam, know that he'd be okay.

"All right, thank you sir. Take a seat, complete the forms as best as you can, and as soon as your brother is stable, we'll bring you to his room."

Swallowing thickly, Dean nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

Dean went to a fairly empty corner of the waiting room, and sat down in a hard plastic chair, half hidden by a magazine rack. 

"Cas," Dean prayed, "I really need you here. Please. Just come."

Once again, Cas was a no-show, and Dean got the uncomfortable feeling that something wasn't right. He’d pushed aside the worry in the car the first time his prayer went unanswered, but now that Sam was in the hands of the doctors, Dean had a chance to think about it, and something wasn’t adding up.

He'd just pulled his phone out to try calling Cas again when it started ringing in his hand. "Cas," he answered, hoping fruitlessly by saying his name would make the angel's voice come from the other end.

"Dean," Cas replied, and such a sense of relief flooded him, leaving him light-headed. "Metatron tricked me," he began without preamble. "I did not want to believe Naomi, not after everything she'd done, but you'd convinced me to at least check things out. Metatron had already killed her. Then he stole my grace."

The instinct to ask Cas exactly what Naomi did to make Cas distrust her was replaced with a different concern as he finally processed the last thing Cas said. "Stole your grace? What does that mean, he stole your grace?"

"It means I'm human, Dean."

The knowledge crashed down him, heavy and final. "You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yes, though I'm not exactly sure where I am except that I'm in Nebraska, I think. Are you?"

"I'm fine, but Sam's not."

Cas' voice immediately turned from weary to concerned. "What's the matter with Sam?"

"I don't know. We stopped the Trials. And he seemed fine at first. Well, not fine. But he was still alive, still taking, tired, and weak, but yanno...nothing he hadn't been through before. Then, he passed out as we were driving home. Doctors haven't come back to tell me anything, which means they still haven't fixed him up, yet."

"I am sorry, Dean," Cas said, and Dean knew he meant it. "Tell me where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"How the hell are you gonna get here?" Dean asked, after rattling off the town and hospital name,"what with you lacking flight capability."

"Dean, don't worry about me, worry about Sam. I still have some money left over from my shopping trip, earlier. I'll be fine. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said, chest tightening. He hated how grateful he felt knowing Cas would soon be there, even if he couldn't exactly do anything now.

"Goodbye, Dean."

**

Four hours, six cups of terrible coffee, and two incredibly unhelpful nurses later, Dean jolted out of his mindless contemplation of modern soap operas playing on the waiting room’s sole television when Cas gripped his shoulder in greeting.

"Hello Dean," Cas said, moving to stand in front of him.

Dean looked up, surprised, and got to his feet. "How the hell did you get here so fast? No one's even come out to tell me much about Sammy. Just that he's still gettin' tests done."

"I got a ride," Cas explained with a tilt of his lips. "A nun. After I explained my situation, she drove me here immediately."

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, staring at Castiel in confusion. "Whaddya mean, explained your situation?"

"I told her that I used to be an angel of the lord whose grace was stolen and I needed to get here as soon as possible to help a friend," Cas replied blithely. "And as I could no longer fly, I needed a ride."

Dean let out a derisive snort. "And she believed you?"

Cas tilted his head. "Not at first, no. But I convinced her by reciting her favorite Psalm in Enochian. After that, she insisted on taking me here without delay She was a kind woman."

"Only you, Cas," Dean said, then slumped back in his chair. Castiel joined him a moment later, sitting down in the chair on his right. "So, talk to me. Not knowing what's going on is killing me and I could use the distraction."

"What do you want me to talk about?" Cas asked, and shifted in his chair.

Dean looked over at him and took in the tired, worn expression on his face, the wrinkled, dusty clothes, and scrapes on his hands. "You look like shit, Cas."

"Thank you, Dean, for that astute observation."

Rolling his eyes again, Dean tapped a restless beat against his thigh with his fingers. "Whatever, man, so you're human now, huh? How's that going for you?"

"It's..." Cas said, trailing off as if trying to think of what to say. "Confusing. Painful. Irritating. Yet, fascinating."

"Just wait til you need to use the little boys' room," Dean said with a small chuckle.

Cas just squinted at him. "Why would I use a room designated for male children?"

Sighing, Dean shook his head. "It's just a—nevermind, Cas. I meant the head. You know, when you need to use the facilities."

It took a moment, but when it finally dawned on Cas what Dean was talking about, he grimaced and eyed the nearby sign directing visitors to the nearest bathrooms with distinct distaste.

"Speaking of being human," Dean said, reaching into his pocket for loose change. "Here," Dean grabbed Cas' hand and dumped four singles and a bunch of coins into it. "Go over to the vending machine and get yourself a drink and something to eat."

"I don't," Cas started, but stopped when it probably clicked in his formerly-feathery head that humans did the whole caloric consumption thing. He got to his feet and looked at the sign on the wall. "Thank you," he mumbled, and walked off in the direction the arrow pointed.

When Cas came back, he had two bottles of water, a bag of Bugles and two different chocolate bars clutched in his hands.

"Hungry?" Dean asked, vaguely impressed by the haul. He wondered how much of it Cas would manage to get down before ending up sick in the bathroom.

Cas just gave him exasperated look. "Some of it is for you."

"Oh," Dean said, straightening up in chair. He took a bottle of water and grabbed the Kit-Kat bar, touched despite the fact that it was his money paying for it all. "Thanks. All I've had was some of the free coffee, which tastes like shit, by the way."

"Noted," Cas replied absently. He took his time unwrapping his Snickers bar, looking at it from three different angles before he gingerly took a tiny bite off the side. Humming thoughtfully, Cas gave a tiny grunt of approval before biting off a larger piece. "This isn't terrible."

Neither of them said anything else as they ate. The news came on, and most of it was dedicated to the strange celestial events that happened the night before. Dean snuck a look at Cas and saw a pained, wistful expression on his face. "It's my fault."

"No," Dean argued, because he as much as he'd like to yell at Cas a few more lifetimes for all the shit over the last few years, it wouldn't fix things. More than that, he needed Cas to be at his side. A guilty Cas tended to be a stupid Cas, one who would leave to try to make things right. "It's that dick Metatron's fault."

Cas didn't respond, but Dean noticed the tense lines on Cas' face soften. 

It was another hour before a doctor came by, frowning, his posture forcibly loose. "Mr. James Newsted, brother of Kirk Newsted?" 

Dean got to his feet. "Yeah, yeah. That's me."

"I'm Dr. Rexler." Dean shook his hand on auto pilot. "I'm afraid I have some difficult news." Cas moved closer to him, and Dean was grateful for the support. They walked in silence until they reached Sam's room. He opened the door for them to go inside. Sam lay still on the bed, hooked up to a couple of machines, and an IV drip. Everything inside of him clenched to see Sammy like that. It was then that the doctor cleared his throat. "Your brother's body is shutting down due to massive internal injuries. There's nothing we can do for him."

"Can't you, I dunno, do some sort of surgery? Fix him up?" Dean demanded, not wanting to hear any bullshit excuses.

Dr. Rexler simply shook his head. "Unfortunately, due to your brother's condition, any sort of surgical intervention would likely cause his body to shut down faster. Too fast for your brother to receive any sort of beneficial effects." 

"Try something! You can't just tell me there's nothing you can do! You're a doctor, for Christ's sake. Do something," Dean yelled, feeling brittle. Why was everyone in the goddamned universe so useless? Dean just wanted someone to give him a solution for once.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Newsted, but we barely understand how your brother sustained so many internal injuries. It is not in our power to heal him. It'd be...circumspect for you to call any family or friends who'd like to say goodbye. He doesn't have long. I'm sorry. I wish I had better news." With that, the doctor gave him a respectful nod, and strode out of the room.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas said, reaching out to touch him. Dean jerked out of his reach and rounded on him, grateful to have Sam's broken figure out of his line of sight for the moment. "Goddamnit, this is your fault. If you just had listened to me, you'd still be an angel and you could fix this," Dean yelled, arm flung towards Sam's bed.

Cas' expression bordered on mournful. "That's not true. Even if I were still an angel, Sam's injuries would be beyond my ability to heal."

"You can't know that," Dean countered, not willing to let go of his anger at Cas, not yet. 

"I do, Dean," Cas replied gently, "and you do as well. It wouldn't have been a sacrifice it were easily fixed."

At that, Dean deflated knowing somehow that Cas was right. "So that's it, then? It's just quittin' time? No more plays in the playbook? That it? Turn the page? Maybe Crowley…"

"No, Dean," Cas said, suddenly fierce and insistent in front of his face. "Even if he could help you, which he isn't powerful enough to do at the moment, anything you could offer him isn't worth it. It's not worth losing yourself again over this. Sam wouldn't want you to, either."

"But at least he'd be alive," Dean argued. "That's worth it in my book."

"Dean, stop," Cas said, raising his palm. "Wait. There might be someone willing to help. I can't guarantee it."

"Who the hell do either of us know willing and able to give that sort of help without some sort of devil's bargain?"

"An angel I know who would have fallen along with the rest. She was in a small garrison gifted with extraordinary capabilities. I could pray to her, see if she would be willing to help."

"You do that, because if that fails, I'm going to talk to Crowley." Dean crossed his arms. 

Cas closed his eyes for a moment, murmuring under his breath. After a few minutes, he opened them again with a short nod. "Hopefully she will be able to come, and soon."

Dean sighed, flopping down in the chair by Sam's bed. "The waiting game. My favorite."

"Do not lose hope just yet. Laylah is fair and decent." Cas gingerly sat on the seat by the window.

Dean scoffed. "Excuse me if I don't take your word for it."

Another nurse came by to check on Sam. She looked at the monitors, the low heart rate, low blood pressure, checked the IV and increased the flow of morphine. And then some fucking sort of Dr. Kevorkian came by—Dean hadn't caught his name, too busy fuming—soon after, spouting bullshit about how it'd be a kindness to pull the life support. It took everything in him not to throw a punch at his stupid, smug face. 

"All right," Dean said, "I can't wait anymore." 

"He can't help you, Dean," Cas insisted. "Nothing he says can be trusted."

Dean opened his mouth to respond when a tired, disheveled woman cleared his throat in the doorway. She was tall, taller than Dean, her auburn hair was piled in a messy bun on top of her head. She was wearing dark grey yoga pants and a tank top with a faded sun and 'Sunshine Studios' in peeling yellow lettering. Poor sucker was probably eatin' granola while greeting the day when she was tapped.  
"Castiel," the woman—or more accurately, angel—said. "I'm sorry it took so long to come. My wings are not yet fully healed, so I had to stop frequently on the way." She paused as she got a good look at Cas. "You're human."

"Laylah." Castiel got to his feet. "You came. And, yes, I am human now. Metatron tricked me and took my grace."

"I cannot fix that for you," Laylah said. "You know this."

Cas shook his head. "It's not me that needs healing. I can cope with humanity. It's Sam Winchester who needs your help."

Laylah walked the rest of the way into the room, and placed her hand over Sam's forehead. Dean's insides clenched, fear and anxiety battling for dominance. 

"This is almost beyond my ability to heal."

Dean perked up. "Almost, you said. Not beyond."

"Yes, but there is a price. One you and Sam may not be willing to pay."

"I don't care, just do it," Dean demanded. "Whatever the cost is, I’ll pay it."

Laylah shook his head. "No, Dean. I will not do this unless you fully understand the consequences of what your decision will mean for you and for Sam."

Dean clenched his fists. "Fine, lay it on me."

"I bring souls to their vessels," Laylah said, voice a touch sad. "At least, I used to."She brushed a curl of Sam's hair aside. "It is up to each individual after that point whether they live righteously or are beset by wickedness." She looked up at Dean. "Or something in between." She looked back down at Sam, and said, so quietly Dean almost didn't hear, "My sister has caused you so much pain, Sam." 

"The only way to heal Sam is to undo what was done to him. The price is the time he has lived from when he was last whole and well. For him, the price will be loss of that time, as if he never lived it." The solemnity sat poorly on Laylah's borrowed face. 

Dean thought back to the last time Sam was healthy. He wouldn't be missing much. Hell, he was probably better off for it. "No big deal. He loses a year. The year pretty much sucked anyhow."

Even as Dean said it, he could see from the sorrowful expression Cas wore that he was missing something. "What, what is it? What's with that look, Cas?"

"Dean," Cas said, tone grave. "Laylah's grace would consider the taint of demon's blood as not being whole or well. He would be returned to when Sam’s soul was pure."

No. No. Dean shook his head as if it could deny what he heard. He scrambled for something. "So, rewind the clock, heal him up, and then age him back up again?"

"I cannot," Laylah said, not even a hint of malleability in her tone. 

Dean paced to the door, turned, and stalked back up to her. "Why the hell not?"

"Because life is filled with choices you make and the consequences of them. Unraveling these choices, bringing him back to when he was last whole, gives him a blank slate to live life again. To experience something denied him when he was tainted by demon’s blood and manipulated to this end. Aging his body after this would not give him life experiences or memories. You would not know him; he would be empty."

"Fine, fine," Dean said, "I got it. He's gotta do this the long way ‘round."

"And now you know the price you must pay. Do not make this choice hastily," Laylah said, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. He shrugged it off and walked over to Cas, but didn't speak. "I will need some time to gather my strength so I can do this. I will return for your answer in an hour."

"We might not have an hour," Dean said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Laylah walked over to Sam, touched his forehead. "We will."

Cas thanked her, and with that she left the room. 

As soon as she was gone, Dean walked the length of the room again, stopped by Sam's bed, went back to Cas, and did it all over again. "What the hell kind of help is that?"

"Dean," Castiel said, his tone placating. "Please, sit down."

"No!" Dean yelled, and stood, furious, in the middle of the room. "What the hell am I supposed to do? Say no and let him die? Say yes and end up with him back in diapers? What the hell kind of choice _is_ that?"

"What do you think Sam would want you to do?" Cas walked over to Sam's beside and looked down at him. 

Dean frowned. He already knew that answer. Sam wouldn't want him to say yes. Sam would want Dean to let him go; to let him die. Dean just couldn't. He just couldn't make himself think it, never mind saying it out loud. "What did Laylah mean about her sister, Cas?"

"Laylah is a guardian angel and a bringer of life. She is the polar opposite of another being in the universe, Dean, the one who has done so much damage to Sam, who is a defiler and destroyer." Cas paused, "You knew her as Lilith.”

Dean felt a little wobbly. "So Laylah is the Samantha to Lilith’s Serena?"Cas looked confused, but before he could open his mouth, Dean just powered on, "I don't know. What do you think I should do?"

"Dean," Cas said, quiet and serious, "I can’t make this decision for you. I know it must be hard, beyond difficult, but you must choose for Sam."

Sighing, Dean looked up at the ceiling. This whole situation sucked beyond the telling of it. "I know. I just…" he trailed off, not know quite how to put it all into words, this terrible burden to make the right decision.

Castiel reached over and gripped his shoulder. "No matter what you decide, I will be here for you.”

"I know," Dean replied, weary but grateful. "I know."

Dean wished he could be in Sammy's head, just for a minute, just to ask Sam what to do. Better yet, he wanted to beg Sam's forgiveness for what he was about to do. Because he knew, in his heart, he couldn't tell that angel no. He'd say yes, because he couldn't do anything else. He'd say yes and if Sam were able, he'd kick Dean’s ass for even considering it. Dean would do it, even if he had to live with the knowledge that if Sam were to wake up for a single minute, he’d argue with Dean to his last breath to let him go. 

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Reaching down, Dean gripped Sam's hand, squeezing for a moment. "You gotta forgive me, Sammy. You have to. I need you to, because I'm gonna do something you're gonna hate. But, we're family. You don't quit on family. I can't quit on you, not yet. So, please, please don’t kick my ass."

Sam didn't squeeze back, and Dean tried his hardest to believe it was because of Sam’s condition, and not his condemnation.

"Dean," Laylah said, startling him as she entered the room a few minutes later. "Have you come to a decision?"

With a sharp nod, Dean gritted out. "Yeah. Yeah. I mean. Yes. Please. Work your mojo. I accept."

She gave him a piercing look before she took a place by his side. "Stand back."

Dean moved over to Castiel and wanted more than anything to grab Cas' hand, but he stuffed them in his pockets instead. 

Laylah moved her hands directly above Sam, and a bright white light enveloped him, so reminiscent of the same light angels used to smite that Dean had to crush the instinct to move forward and protect Sam from it. As it was, he had to cover his own eyes to protect them.

A few minutes later, the light disappeared and Laylah slumped back into a chair. Cas reached forward to help her, and Dean looked down at the bed and saw a naked, kicking baby, drowning in the hospital gown Sam had been wearing. A wave of familiarity hit him so hard he took a step back. 

A few deep breaths later, Dean managed to man up, and darted forward to gingerly gather up baby Sam in his arms. 

Dean stared down at the familiar, heartbreaking bundle in his hands, unable to move, and wondered just what in the hell he was going to do next.


	2. Home Seems Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean loses himself in small tasks to keep himself from thinking too much about Sam and how he can fit in the curve of his arms again. All he knows is that he doesn't think he can do it without Cas.

~*~

Later, Dean would remember this: the sounds of Sam’s equipment bleeping angrily, having been disconnected suddenly from the larger body they’d been attached to. Laylah, seated and breathing heavily, as she sighed in irritation, as if her vessel was a great disappointment to her. Most of all, he’d remember the way he’d frozen, his feet rooted to the floor, as his arms and fingers closed around Sammy, who was so warm, and so alive. And Dean couldn’t move.

"Dean," Cas said, taking his arm in a firm grip. "It would be prudent for us to be gone before the nurse returns."

Jerking his head up, Dean eyed the door for a second before he dropped his gaze back down to Sammy. "Yeah, yeah. Doubt they'd buy 'Second Childhood' as a diagnosis." He looked over at Laylah, still sitting in the chair. "You okay to travel? We gotta scram before someone comes in and thinks...whatever the hell is they'd come up with in this freaky-ass scenario."

Laylah nodded and got to her feet. "Be well," she said to Dean, and turned to Castiel. "I will attempt to explain to any other angels I find what happened, but do not expect the same willing to listen. Many of them are incredibly angry."

"I understand," Castiel replied, shoulders dipped. "If there is a way to fix this, I will find it."

"Thank you." And with that, she left.

"Now we really gotta go." Dean set the baby back down on the bed to untangle him from the mess of fabrics. "Hey, Cas, grab a fresh gown from the cabinets. And a towel, if they got one."

"The only things here are little oddly shaped plastic containers," Cas said, and Dean just shook his head. "Nevermind. You come here and make sure he doesn't roll onto the floor, I'll get the things."

Dean darted over and pulled open the drawers he'd seen a nurse use earlier and found a gown and a pillowcase. He went back over to the bed and quickly set about putting it on the baby. 

"I hope you don't plan to carry him in that," Cas commented as Dean shook out the pillowcase. 

"I'm using it as a diaper, dumbass. Didn't see a secret stash of Pampers in there, did you? It ain't perfect, but it's better than leaving this weapon un-holstered, because I dunno about you, but I can't say I've a burning desire to be pissed on anytime soon, you?"

"Um, no," Cas replied, with a tone that suggested he thought Dean was being strange again. "I can't say that I have."

"Right," Dean said, scooping up the baby, and cradling him close. "Let's go. Check if anyone's coming."

Cas peeked out into the hallway, and then turned back with a nod. "Everyone seems to be busy."

They made it out of the hospital with relative ease, only having to duck into an alcove once to avoid the nurse who'd taken Sam's vitals. After they made it out into the parking lot, and managed to find Dean's car, he realized another problem. "Crap."

Castiel looked at him curiously, and Dean wanted to bang his head against the roof of his car. 

"This day keeps getting better and better."

"I question your interpretation of 'better'," Cas said, and then whatever expression Dean pulled must have said exactly what he was thinking because Cas quickly asked, "What is the problem, then?"

"Don't have a car seat," Dean explained, shifting the baby so he had a better grip. "Actually, don't have anything. We've got another twenty minutes before he's howling for some chow."

Dean stared at the car for a few minutes, and sighed. "There's nothing for it. Get in the back, Cas. You're gonna have to hold him til we get to a place where we can pick up some supplies. I caught sight of a Walmart when I drove into town."

"I'm not sure..." Cas hesitated a moment, but Dean just nodded at the car door, and Cas got in. 

Dean ducked in, plunked the baby on Cas' lap, and tugged Cas' hands until they were both around his middle. "Just hold him close and don't let go. I'll drive slow, it’s not too far. We can grab whatever we need there."

"I will keep him safe," Cas promised, forcibly reminding Dean of a time when Castiel had promised to watch over him while he slept.

"Thanks," Dean grunted out, and made his way to the front and got in the driver's side. 

Briefly Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply to steady himself before starting the car, and began to slowly make his way to the store. They drove in near silence, broken only by the occasional baby sounds echoing in the car.

Dean parked near the front of the store and looked at Cas in the rearview mirror, and asked, "D’ya mind staying here with him awhile I run in?"

After a slight pause in which Cas stared at him with that penetrating expression he had, Cas nodded. "Of course."

"Check on that asshole for me first? I need to make a list." Dean didn't look back as he asked, not wanting Cas to catch him out on the lie.

"Will it be safe for me to place Sam on the seat?"

"Yeah, just lay him down. He'll be fine for a few minutes." 

Dean waited until Castiel had set the baby down and had gotten out of the car before he allowed himself a minute to fall apart. He tried to take a deep breath, but it came out quick and shallow instead. He clenched his fists on the steering wheel, pressing his forehead against it. He needed to pull himself together for the sake of the—no, not 'the baby', Sammy...it was _Sam_ — and do what needed to be done.

Finally, after another few shuddering breaths, Dean managed to pull himself together. He straightened up, squared his shoulders and looked straight ahead, then nodded to himself. He could do this. He could.

He watched Sam until Cas got back from whatever threat-filled pissing match he'd no doubt gotten into with Crowley. Cas opened the door back up, scooped Sam up into his arms again, and sat back down. "Crowley still lives," Cas reported as he shifted Sam to a more comfortable position.

"Yeah, he's like that. I'll be back as soon as I can." He got out of the car and headed toward the store, snagging a loose cart on the way. He couldn't help but take his time as he walked.

Dean had only made it just past the boxes of seasonal crap in the front when Castiel came rushing up to him from behind. "I'm sorry, Dean," he panted," but as soon as you left, Sam started crying. He only stopped when I started walking."

Dean sighed. The last thing he wanted was to have Sam get seen by some busybody, but it'd probably draw less attention than having Castiel in the car with a screaming baby wearing nothing but stolen hospital gear. "It's fine."

"I can take him back," Cas said, clearly sensing Dean's reluctance. Dean pretended he didn't hear him.

"All right," Dean said, over bright, clapping his hands together. "Where the hell is the baby crap in this dump?"

"Perhaps there," Cas said, shifting the baby in his grip so he could point at an area down the aisle with a helpful blue sign saying as much.

"All right, let's get Arizona over here all geared up," Dean said, pushing the cart toward the section with the strollers and car seats.

"I don't understand that reference," Cas said. 

Dean rolled his eyes. What a surprise. He focused on stroller options, more than he'd expected, and tried to figure out which to pick. "Your loss," Dean replied, "It was an awesome Nick Cage movie. Back in the eighties."

"I seem to recall," Cas paused, and cleared his throat awkwardly, "that someone told me I reminded him of a Nicholas Cage character."

"Wait? What?" Dean asked, turning from the The First Years Ignite stroller line, which looked pretty badass compared to the Dalmatians Disney monstrosity sitting next to it. After a moment, it came to him. That _City of Angels_ piece of crap. "Yeah." A moment later, he said, "You can say his name, yanno..."

"You haven't looked at him since you placed him in my arms," Cas replied in that matter-of-fact tone he had that drove Dean absolutely nuts.

Dean stilled, not turning around. "And?"

"I'd understand if you found the situation more difficult than you anticipated."

"Look," Dean said, gripping the edge of the shelf. "Sam's not dead. That's a win in my book. Everything else can get figured out later." He turned then, looking at Castiel, who had the baby—no, it was Sam. _Sammy_ —in his arms, drooling lightly against his shoulder. It took more effort to keep his eyes on the pair of them than it did to give himself up to the hellhounds, but he forced himself to do it until the pain ebbed enough so he could breathe without it feeling like he'd been sliced open.

"All right," Cas replied, wisely choosing not to discuss the matter further. Dean picked up the stroller that tripled as a carrier and car seat, knowing they had only so much room. It wouldn't fit on the cart, so he settled for simply pushing the box forward as he maneuvered the cart over to the supplies one-handed. He grabbed diapers, wipes, a baby first-aid kit bibs, burp cloths, and towels. 

An associate came up and offered to help after a few minutes of him pushing the car seat/stroller box around with his foot. He muttered a thank you, and waited as the associate sent the car seat to the front desk with some kid and a loader to bring it up front. In a whirlwind, Dean grabbed bottles and formula along with some sundries like teething rings and baby shampoo. 

"Sorry," he mumbled to the associate—Jean—because she probably had something better to do than help him.

"Don't worry about it," Jean replied, waving her hand. "It's better than reshelving pacifiers."

"It'll be a lot easier now that I don't have to push around that car seat box. Don't know what the hell I was thinking picking it up first." 

"Unexpected visit?" Jean asked, and Dean immediately froze. It looked suspicious, no doubt, Dean needing to buy all this gear, especially with Cas carrying around the baby. He forced himself to relax and pasted an lopsided grin on his face. 

"Oh, well, a pipe burst in our apartment," Dean invented quickly. "We just needed to replace some of the necessities until we can figure out what we can salvage."

"Damn," Jean swore. "That's rough."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, adding a couple packages of onesies and baby socks. "But you know the saying, things can be replaced, people can't." He swallowed thickly at that; he hadn't meant to say anything so personal. However, Jean's expression softened, and Dean could only feel relief that she bought their story and didn't think they were kidnapping the Lindberg baby or something.

He went over to the racks and snagged five random boys outfits in the right size and called it a day. He'd get the rest when they got back to the bunker. This would last them for a couple of days.

Jean followed them to the checkout, signaled for that kid to bring the stroller over, and offered to help them take the box to the car after everything was paid for and bagged, but Dean declined. The last thing he needed was his Impala on an APB if things went south. 

The car seat was easy enough to install, although the instructions called for a shoulder belt, the backseat only had lap belts. He could install shoulder belts later. He tucked Sammy into the seat, looking down at his sleeping face, and choked back everything that threatened to spill out of him. 

He shook himself out of that horrible line of thinking and got into the front seat as soon as the car was packed. Castiel seated himself up front this time as the back seat was packed with their loot including the new stroller and Crowley was still in the trunk. But Dean still had to stop himself from telling Cas to get the hell out of Sam's seat.

"Whaddya think, Cas," Dean said, after he pulled himself together. "Should we try to make home or should we stop at the nearest hotel to get our shit together?"

"How long is it back to the bunker?" Cas asked, turning toward him.

Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. He wanted food, a strong drink, and sleep. In any order. "Round about six or seven hours."

"Ah," Cas nodded. "Perhaps we should stop when next he wakes."

"Good plan." Dean steered them out of the parking lot and onto the highway. He figured that Sam should be due for a diaper change and bottle soon, but he felt antsy being out of the bunker. Sammy was vulnerable, Cas was human, and Dean hadn't the foggiest about what was going on with that dick Metatron, not to mention Crowley and whatever other big bad that would love to take a shot while they were so exposed and unprepared. 

Not wanting Cas to take this as an opportunity to talk to him about feelings or problems or anything else, Dean switched on the radio, and put the volume as high as felt he could get away with. Sam was always good at sleeping in a moving car. Cas, bless his normally thick head, took it as a sign to keep quiet, eyes fixed out of the passenger window, Not that Dean tried to look over at him.

Two hours later, Dean took a turn off on an exit with both food and lodging signs, and as soon as the rhythm of the highway stopped, Sam woke up disgruntled and intent on letting the world know about it. "Soon, Sammy," Dean placated, "we'll get you fed and changed soon. Just give me a few minutes." Sam, if anything, cried louder. "I hear ya. It sucks, being stuck, wet and hungry. We're almost there. We're close."

"Think you can figure out what we need to bring in?" Dean asked Cas, after pulling into the parking lot of a Super 8. "If you can scrounge 'em up, I'll get us signed into a room."

"I believe I can manage," Cas replied, though he sounded skeptical.

"Okay. I'll head to the front desk and you stuff whatever you think we'll need in diaper bag I bought earlier. No use trudging shit in we don't need, we'll only be here for a few hours."

Dean forced a tired smile on his lips when he ended up face to face with a perky blonde girl who looked like a teenager and grinned at him with her eyebrow ring and bright pink lipstick when she asked if she could help him.

Obviously bored, she tried to engage him in a conversation, but after several excruciating minutes of small talk, Dean finally had a keycard to a kitchenette room clutched in his hand and bowed out of the conversation with a vague dismissal. The face she gave him in return reminded him so much of Sam's 'you haven't been listening to a thing I've said' face, Dean had to stop himself from grabbing at his chest. Instead, he took a deep breath and marched back outside to find Cas holding a wailing Sam on one hip and the bag, stuffed to the brim, on his other shoulder.

"Um. We're down this way, I think." Dean stalked off toward the room, not able to look back at the two of them yet. He just needed another minute. Five minutes, and he'd be fine. Just fine.

He opened the door, flicked on the lights, and shut the door as behind Cas as he entered.

"Let's get this party started," Dean said, "I'll heat up some water in the microwave. You get him changed. Think you can manage a diaper?"

"Dean, I once commanded the armies of Heaven. I think I can handle changing a diaper."

"Sure thing, General Patton. I'll leave you to it." Dean busied himself with heating up the water in the microwave, washing the new bottles and nipples, and mixing up the formula. When he finally looked up from what he was doing, he was surprised to see that Cas had, in fact, managed to change Sam's diaper. Not only that, Cas had changed him into one of the new onesies he'd purchased and was currently trying to stop Sam from kicking and screaming long enough to tug on a pair of socks. 

"Here," Dean said, opening his arms for Cas to hand over Sam once he'd finished. He carried Sam over to the chair, and shifted him so he was curled in the curve of his arm. He held the bottle out to Sam, who stopped crying and latched onto it immediately. It hadn't gotten easier to look at Sammy, like this. This was the precise face he'd seen over and over in nightmares of his mother dying as he'd struggled to carry Sam to safety after John had placed him in Dean's arms. And now Sammy—that same exact Sammy—was looking up at him, trustingly, proving once again that Dean had failed. 

He tried not to think about it and smiled a little wanly, and said, "I remember your face," and wished to hell that Sammy, his Sam, was there to mock him for quoting Lord of the Rings all over again.

Sam had worn himself out crying during the eternity he'd been forced to wait for his meal, so he conked out before Dean had even shifted him to get burped. He placed him down to nap on the bed furthest from the door. Sam didn't even twitch.

Now that Dean had no more tasks to keep his body and his mind occupied, he slumped down into the chair again, suddenly exhausted beyond belief. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to remember the last time he'd even slept or eaten beyond the vending machine junk Cas had shared with him in the hospital.

"Guess we should get something to eat before the little guy wakes up and we get back on the road again," Dean said, forcing his mouth to form the words.

"Dean," Cas said, in that tone that warned Dean that whatever Cas was gonna say, he wasn't going to like it. "You're hungry and exhausted, as am I..."

"Your point?" Dean glared at Castiel, who pointedly removed his trenchcoat and laid it over the dresser. He tugged at the knot of his tie, loosening it, but didn't remove it. 

"Why do you insist on punishing yourself—," Cas began, frustration in every word.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, cutting Castiel off before he said anything else. "We got the room for the night already, might as well stay for it." Dean thought about going out to pick up dinner, but groaned at the thought of moving across the room. "Better call up delivery for some chow, cause I ain't movin' and you can't drive."

"All right," Cas agreed, a tiny hint of a smile on his face. "Anything I should order in particular?"

"Just order me a burger, those are usually a safe bet. And get whatever you want."

Cas stared at him for a moment, head tilted. "I don't know what I want. Food tastes differently to an angel than as a human." 

"I seem to remember you chowing down on about crap load of burgers a couple years ago."

"Yes, when under the influence of Famine." Cas had found the a menu for a local delivery joint as the hotel itself didn't have room service and stared at is as if he could learn how each item tasted by reading it. 

Dean sighed at Cas' matter-of-fact response. None of their shared memories were solely happy ones, were they. "Order yourself the same, then. You’ll like it."

"Hello?" Castiel said into the receiver after precisely hitting the keys listed in the hotel book. "I'd like to place an order for Room 112 at the Super 8." A pause. "Cheeseburgers." Another pause. "There are three of us, but only two of us are capable of eating the items listed on your menu."

"Order us some sodas, too." Dean watched Castiel in amusement as his brow furrowed. "Dean wants sodas as well." Another pause. "Pick one." One last pause. "That will be fine. Thank you."

"So, we hit the road first thing in the morning," Dean said, rubbing his eyes. Part of him didn't even feel up to waiting for the food to arrive. He wanted to just crash out on the bed and get his four hours. "That way we'll get back to the bunker by early afternoon, if we don't have to make too many pit stops." Dean glanced over at Sam, who slept on, drooling onto the bedspread, then looked away.

The food arrived in forty minutes, delivered by a bored-looking kid that Cas probably scared, growling at the poor little shit to keep quiet so Sam could sleep. 

Sam rolled over in his sleep, making a tiny noise he always did when he moved and suddenly, Dean was right back in the house he grew up in, crawling on the floor at eye level with Sam, watching as he kicked out his feet in joy as Dean shook his stuffed bunny in front of his face. It had a stupid name. Damn, what was it? He couldn't remember.

Dean’s appetite nearly vanished as he blinked away the memory. Only knowing that he needed the fuel got him to open up the container. He choked it down without bothering to taste it.

"I think you made the right choice," Castiel said after swallowing a large bite. "This is something I enjoy the taste of."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, okay." He got up and moved to the bathroom. It had the faintest scent of mildew, but looked clean enough. He'd like nothing more to get into the shower, but even stripping down felt like it'd take more energy than he could spare. He took a piss and washed his hands and face, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror.

Despite feeling worn down to the bone, when Dean finally collapsed on the bed next to Sam, who had somehow managed to sprawl and take up more space than a baby rightfully should, he couldn't get himself to relax. He could feel the warmth of Sam's body near his hand and resolutely fixed his gaze elsewhere.

He watched as Cas puttered around the room, picking things up and setting them back down again. Cas started to get a strange look about his face and he walked awkwardly for a few moments before it hit Dean that this was Cas' potty face, which shocked a chuckle out of him.

Cas emerged from the bathroom looking severely disgruntled and sat down on the other bed with a huff. "Being a human is irritating."

"Preachin' to the choir, buddy," Dean replied, and flicked on the TV. He settled on a Law and Order marathon because everything else was either news, some church-head yammerin' about nothing, or golf. 

Two episodes passed and Sam woke up hungry, wet, and pissed about both. Dean let Castiel handle this round, but couldn't stop himself from watching to make sure Cas didn't screw up. He did everything just fine, if a bit awkward, and walked around the room, carrying Sam, and explaining to him nuisances of being human like urinating, defecating, and the consumption of calories. Wasn't it all just the slightest bit tedious? Sam spent most of it chewing wetly on his fist, with the occasional burp. 

It was only after Sam went back down to sleep that Dean unwound enough to close his eyes and attempt sleep. Castiel had already sacked out on the other bed, looking ridiculous in his old man boxer shorts, undershirt and one sock still on his left foot. Dean tugged one of the pillows from behind his head and placed it on Sam's other side to work as a barrier, curled an arm over his warm little body, and closed his eyes.

The sound of screaming filled Dean's ears. He tried desperately to get to baby Sam, but Lucifer—wearing Sam's older body—held him close, singing a twisted lullaby to him. Someone called for him, but he couldn't tell from where. All he knew is that he failed to protect Sam over and over again. 

"Dean!" Castiel said slow, yet firm. "It's okay. You're safe. Sam's safe."

Suddenly, Dean found himself back in the ratty hotel room with Sam crying wetly against his shoulder, his back against the wall, and his gun pointed firmly at Castiel's head. He looked wildly around the room, the day's events falling back into place, yet he couldn't make himself lower his gun. 

"Dean," Castiel said again, calm and without fear. "Sam's safe."

Finally, Dean nodded and lowered his gun to his side. "Sorry," he grunted out, finding his throat hurt as if he'd been yelling, "what the hell happened?"

"Sam woke up and I wanted to give him his nighttime feeding and a diaper change so you could sleep longer. You became agitated when I tried to pick him up."

"Hunter's reflexes," Dean summarized blankly, swallowing to ease the hurt in his throat. His heart still pounded fast and heavy in his chest. He shook his head to rid himself of the nightmare, but it didn't want to let go. It almost took more than he had to hold Sam out to Cas as he said, "C'mon. I ain't goin' back to sleep, now. You get him fed and changed and I'll pack up the car. Good a time as ever to hit the road."

Dean gathered up all the crap that Cas currently didn't need to help Sam and carried it out to the Impala. He dumped in the backseat and then walked over to the trunk. "Hey," Dean said, unlocking it. He looked down at the extremely rumpled and severely disgruntled form of Crowley, who just glared at Dean. "Quit being such a princess. Imagine if I drove a compact car? At least you have a bit of legroom." Crowley just rolled his eyes in response. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just lettin' you know you'll be back to a windowless cell, tied to a chair in no time ‘cuz I know the former King of Hell is used to better accommodations."  


Crowley didn't even need to speak, because the 'Fuck you, I’m still the King!' in response was clear anyhow.

Castiel came out of the hotel room with Sam, who still held his bottle, just as Dean had slammed the trunk down again.

"Let's go," Dean said, and took Sam from Cas to place him back in the carseat. "The sooner we get home, the better."

Cas got in the car without comment, and Dean returned to the room, quickly checking to make sure there was nothing left of their stay, and threw the room key on the desk just before leaving.

He managed to walk back out and get behind the wheel, starting the car and pulling out back to the freeway without much effort. Thanks to the adrenaline from the earlier nightmare, Dean’s mind was blissfully blank, save for a lingering memory, a quote his father used to say when the days were long in the early days.

Dean suddenly felt so much empathy for his father. Miles to go and all.


	3. Back At The Bunker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Cas, and baby Sam finally get back to the bunker to get Kevin up to speed. 
> 
> Many thanks to Djin7 for the beta.

~*~

By the time Dean finally rolled into the garage of the bunker, it'd just ticked past noon. Dean had underestimated the weekday traffic, having chosen the most direct route back to the bunker by freeway, and the traffic volume had both his passengers getting increasingly irritable until Dean had finally gotten the chance to take an exit to stop for snacks. Cas had practically jumped out of the car before he'd fully stopped and made a bee-line for the restrooms. Dean just sighed, rolling his eyes, and set about changing Sam's diaper. After snacks, Dean chose a quieter, back roads route, longer, but with less traffic, and Sam and Cas both were in much better spirits for the remainder of the drive.

In between songs, the radio station kept reporting on various car accidents and other strange incidents that set Castiel's expression to squirrelly every time he heard one. Dean itched to just jam one of his cassettes in the tape deck, but Cas bristled at the suggestion and Dean didn't have the energy to argue with him.

A few hours later, Dean pulled into the service road that led to the bunker, relief flooding his exhausted body. They’d grabbed a hot dinner take out a mile back, and he nodded at Cas after parking the Impala.

"You mind carrying some of this shit in?" Dean asked him as he unbuckled Sam from the car seat. "I'll be back for Captain Sadness later." Dean tilted his chin at the trunk. 

Not waiting for Cas to reply, Dean headed inside the bunker. "Hi, honey, I'm home," he called out, hoping Kevin hadn't mainlined too much caffeine and uppers, ready to shoot at anything that moved. It'd happened before, and Dean nearly lost an eye when Kevin's fingers got twitchy on the crossbow he didn't know how to shoot.

Dean found him in the kitchen, with a cup of the aforementioned coffee, and Kevin started talking before he even got into the room. "You're back. Finally. Everything's been weird here and I've been torn between being worried and bored for the last three da—" Kevin paused as soon as he noticed the carrier Dean was swinging up onto the counter. "That's a baby. Why do you have a baby?"

Dean hadn't the foggiest how to even begin the conversation, but had opened his mouth to say something when Cas entered the room looking like a disgruntled pack mule. Kevin gave Cas a long look before holding up his hand. "Wait. I'm guessing this conversation is going to be terrible. Before you even start, I want food and alcohol. I've had nothing but protein bars, coffee and tap water for the last two days."

"There’s dry provisions enough in the pantry to feed an army, Kevin. But, lucky for you we picked something up on the way," Dean said, grateful for the reprieve. "Fried chicken and beer good enough for you?"

Kevin perked up visibly at that and nodded, then returned to giving Sam the side-eye. Dean tried again to explain only for Kevin to repeat, "Food. Beer. Then talk."

"Fine, pain in the ass," Dean groused and started to prepare some food for Sam as Cas put the dinner out and Kevin helped set the table.

Halfway through making Sam a small bowl of rice cereal Dean realized he had no baby chair to put Sam in. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, and did a quick mental tally of other baby-related crap he still needed to get before they could truly settle down with Sam. Grinding his teeth a little at the thought of it, he opted instead to just keep Sam in his carrier for now to feed him.

Once everyone settled into their chairs, Dean looked over at Kevin, who had taken a drumstick, closed his eyes, taken a large bite, and chewed in rapture for what seemed like an excessive amount of time. After he swallowed, he opened his eyes, pointed at Dean with the piece of chicken, and said, "Explain."

"Where do I even start?" Dean said, more to himself than anything. Everything that'd happened over the last three days seemed insurmountable to put into a few words.

Kevin took a sip of beer and said, evenly, "You could start with where the baby came from? Or where Sam is?" 

"Lucky for you, the answer to both of those questions is the same thing," Dean said, watching as confusion spread across Kevin's face. "You see, this here is Sammy.” Kevin’s eyes widened. Dean went on, “The trials. They were killing him. Even though we stopped 'em. The hospital couldn’t do anything and Sam was as good as dead when Cas showed up and phoned-a-friend. Turns out he's buddy-buddy with an angel that can do some heavy duty mojo. She offered to cure Sammy, but there was a catch - this was the only way."

Kevin's face had become more disbelieving during Dean’s story, as his eyes flicked between Dean and Sam over and over again. Finally, he turned to Cas, as if hoping he would reveal this to be the practical joke that it surely was. Dean watched as Kevin's expression settled into weary resignation as Castiel offered him only a solemn nod. Kevin turned back to Dean. "Sam...asked you to do this?" he said, baffled. "This is what Sam wanted?"

Stiffening, Dean looked away, down at the floor, not wanting to see Kevin as he realized the truth, or Cas who had already said his piece on it, or even at Sam, who was the proof of Dean's failure. 

After an excruciating silence, Cas finally said, "Sam was unable to make his opinions on the matter known at the time. He was never going to wake up. Dean did the best he could under the circumstances."

Dean's head shot up and he stared at Cas in surprise. He didn't know quite how to ask why Cas hadn't thrown him under the bus, given his clear disapproval in the hospital. But Dean settled for nudging Cas' knee with his own in thanks. "Yeah," Dean said, after clearing his throat. "Sam was out of it. I did what I had to do."

"I see," Kevin said, in a strange, flat voice, before he busied himself with the rest of his dinner. Dean didn't know what to make of it, because Kevin didn't seem to be too upset about Dean's hand in Sam's current condition. He got the sense it was more about something else entirely.

The silence that followed was awkward and uncomfortable. Dean busied himself with feeding Sam, who was babbling and getting food all over himself. Finally, after Sam ate half his bowl of rice cereal and was wearing the other, Dean made him a bottle that Sam took happily, and then Dean began to eat his own dinner. 

Cas spoke again. "Kevin, I also have some news to share with you."

"This ought to be good," Kevin muttered into his mashed potatoes. "If this has anything to do with murder or demons, I don't want to know."

"I'm human," Cas said in that deadpan way he had that drove Dean nuts on the best of days.

" _What_?" Kevin's fork clattered onto his plate. "How?"

Cas' expression soured. "Metatron. He tricked me, stole my grace and used it for a spell to throw the angels out of Heaven, and then sent me back to Earth."

"Why?" Kevin asked, bewildered. "Wouldn't it be easier to just kill you? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're alive. It just doesn't make any sense."

"He told me he wanted me to get married, have children, and then, when I die, to come to him in Heaven to tell him my story," Cas answered, as if it made as little sense to him as it did to either Dean or Kevin.

"One down," Kevin said nodding at Sam, who was nearly asleep now that he’d finished his bottle. Dean snorted despite himself, but sobered quickly as what Cas said sank in. 

"What the hell is up with that guy?" Dean asked, and Cas shrugged, which wasn't much of an answer, but Cas was still finding his sea legs, so Dean let it go and made a promise to himself to bring it up later when they were alone.

"And are you okay with this?" Kevin asked, directing his question to Castiel. "Not being an angel, I mean..."

"I have no choice but to be," Castiel replied simply, looking down at his plate. Kevin looked like he wanted to say more, but Dean gave a quick jerk of his head to say not a good idea.

"So, what's the plan, now?" Kevin asked as he pushed away his plate. "I assume letting a bunch of pissed off angels run amok is a terrible idea."

Dean sighed. "I don't know, man." He barely had time to wrap his mind around the whole Sam situation. He wanted to say 'fuck it'. He wanted to say to hell with all those angel dicks. He wanted to say fuck off to everything and everyone, but he knew Kevin wouldn't accept it. Instead, he deflected, "Right now, all I'm thinking about is taking care of Sam...maybe we could—"

"I have an idea," Cas interrupted, and Dean shot him a grateful look. "And it does not yet require Dean's particular skill set. You and I," he said to Kevin," should begin researching ways to counteract the spell Metatron used to close Heaven's doors. My brethren will be lost and confused. I need to find a way to aid them. I do not think they will welcome my help, however. Perhaps, you can help me discover a way to bypass that difficulty."

"Sounds good," Kevin said, nodding. "Dean can focus on Sam until we need something dead."

"Thanks," Dean said, dryly. "Glad to know what you think my strengths are."

"You are also adequate at tactical planning," Cas commented after taking a sip of beer. "And are well versed in the skills of deceiving and placating civilians in addition to your ability to slay demons and other creatures."

"There might be some information here," Kevin said, bringing the conversation back on point, and nodded his head toward the direction the library. "They might have some information. Everything here lit up like the night sky when the angels fell." 

Dean had totally forgotten that Kevin had mentioned things being weird at the bunker with all the other news they'd had to exchange. He wanted to yell at Kevin for not mentioning it until now, but it was obvious that he'd been distracted by Sam's new look.

"Does that mean that the Men of Letters had ways of detecting an angel's grace?" Castiel asked, tone pained, yet curious. "I am not sure there are enough willing vessels capable of holding an angel for long. It might cause problems. I'm not sure what I'll be able to do. Many of them are angry with me."

"Angry in the whole 'Let me hit you once and I'm over it and will let you help me' sort of way or angry in the 'Feel the divine wrath as I smite you to death' sort of way?"

"The latter, most likely. There were...issues before I inadvertently aided Metatron."

"Like that whole God that failed-civil war thing," Dean added helpfully. 

"Yes, Dean," Castiel said, giving him a glare. "The time when I mistakenly consumed the souls of purgatory in order to fix Heaven and smote many of my brothers has made me unpopular in some circles. How perceptive of you to notice that."

"No need to get pissy," Dean replied, smothering a poorly-timed laugh. "We all fuck up."

"Anyhow," Kevin said, rolling his eyes at Dean, and turning his attention back to Cas. "We should see what the machine even does. Then we should check out the library..."

Dean tuned them out as they went over a few ways to utilize the bunker's resources to get a grasp on the situation. He chewed mechanically as he watched Sam kicking his little feet at the sight and sound of all the people in the room, looking around the table, filled with delight and curiosity. Sammy, his Sam, would have loved it. Their current family sitting together for a meal, and a chance to research with some of the best minds they’d ever met. He'd have given him that sappy grin and...Dean swallowed thickly, appetite lost. This Sam simply brought his hands up and waved them around as he babbled happily. 

"I just wanted to help," Castiel said, pained, and Dean tore his eyes away from Sam to look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the table, his lips turned down, and his brow wrinkled in thought. Dean thought he looked lost. Made two of them. Dean eyed Kevin, whose face creased in sympathy. Three of them.

"It's not your fault," Kevin said, and Castiel looked skeptical, but gave him a tiny quirk of a grin. 

"In the end, it hardly matters. The result is the same. Perhaps that makes it worse."

"There's nothing we can do about it tonight," Kevin replied, sagely. "We can talk about what to do about everything tomorrow."

"And on that note," Dean said, "I need to go put our animal back in its cage. Watch Sam for me, will you?" he said to Cas who nodded in return. Kevin got to his feet and began clearing the table, a chore he suspected his mother often required of him as he tended to do it unasked unless he caught himself and felt contrary. Dean left them to it and headed back into the garage. 

Crowley looked disgruntled as ever when Dean opened the trunk to the Impala. He glared at him, muttering what must be imprecations under the gag. "Up you go, Princess. Time to introduce you to your Tower of Solitude."

"Things not going smoothly for the Winchester boys?" Crowley said as soon as Dean had ensconced him in the bunker’s panic room and removed his gag after he’d been tied up and bound by a Devil's trap. 

Dean scowled at him. "Shut the hell up, Crowley, or I'll gank you right here, right now."

"You wouldn't dare," Crowley stated with a haughty snort. "There's too many secrets rattling around my brain. I might have some answers that you'd love to hear."

"You're seriously underestimating how much I care," Dean said, walking toward the door.

"And dead men tell no tales," Crowley shouted after him, Dean slammed the door shut in response. He’d have kept the dick gagged but the room was soundproof, anyways, so Dean figured even numbers on Crowley talking himself to crazy before anything else, so he didn’t care how much noise he made.

When Dean got back to the kitchen, he found Cas and Kevin arguing in hushed, angry voices. Kevin looked over Cas' shoulder to glare at him, before turning back to Cas, who said something back all while holding Sam against his other shoulder, shifting slightly up and down on his feet to rock him. Kevin huffed out a furious breath of air, rolled his eyes, and gave Cas a stiff nod before stalking off towards Dean.

"We have things to discuss," Kevin said, shortly, "but it can wait," he looked back at Cas, who was getting smacked in the face by Sam's chubby little hand. "Find me when he's sleeping."

"Fine, sure," Dean said, suddenly tired all over again. He had an idea what it was about, and it had everything to do with their little hostage. Kevin stared at him, as if trying to discern the truth of his words. Apparently, Dean had satisfied him, because he muttered 'good, later' under his breath and walked off toward the library. 

"He wasn't aware that Crowley still lived," Cas explained as soon as Kevin left the room like Dean couldn't have figured it out on his own.

"Yeah, I got that," Dean said, shaking his head. "C'mon, Cas, lemme show you to your room."

Dean led Cas up to the hall where his room was located and opened the door directly to the right of his. "Here," Dean said, turning the light switch on, and then waved his arm into the room. "It ain't much, just the basics."

"It's fine, Dean, thank you," Cas replied as he stepped into the spartan bedroom and looked around. 

Shifting on his feet, Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "We can see to getting you some crap of your own to decorate. New sheets, Precious Moments figurines, whatever you want. Hafta go into town soon for the rest of Sammy's shit, anyhow."

"What are Precious Moments figurines?" Cas asked, tilted his head to the side. 

Dean just stared at him for a moment, before snorting. "Never mind." He looked down at the dresser when another thought occurred to him. "Shit. You're gonna need clothes. You can't just mojo yourself clean anymore. I think I have a few things to tide you over. My stuff will fit you better than--" Dean couldn’t say Sam’s name quite then. 

"I would appreciate that." Cas looked at him, with the face that Dean knew meant he wished to discuss something that would push at Dean’s personal boundaries. To stall him, Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and asked, "You mind if I grab a shower? I need to wash the road off me."

"Of course, Dean, take all the time you need," Castiel said, tucking whatever he had to say away for the moment. "Sam and I will be fine."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said, not looking him in the eye, and he walked to his room. He grabbed a change of clothes and a towel, and then remembered to grab a few things for Cas, which he tossed onto Cas' bed on his way to the shower room.

Dean pulled off his clothes in quick, jerky motions, wondering idly if he should just burn them. _These were the clothes I was wearing when my brother died_ came to him unbidden, and he clenched his fist at the thought. Cas had Sam, safely in the library, here in the bunker. Sam was alive and Dean had no business acting otherwise. He kicked the clothes aside and decided to deal with them later. The water near-scalded his skin as he stepped under the spray, but Dean was half of mind ready to turn it higher, anyways.

"Damnit," he cursed, slamming his fist against the tile. "God-fucking-damnit." He hit the wall again. His face burned with the stress of the last few days, jaw muscles clenching tighter and tighter. It seemed as if every nerve he had stood on end and stung his skin. His belly clenched and his knees weakened to the point that he could barely hold himself up. He choked up into the spray, "I can’t fucking do this. _I can't._ "

 _You never did think things through, Dean,_ Sam's bitchface voice in his head called out to him. _You never consider the consequences._

Great. Now he was losing his freaking mind.

Cas, Dean thought wildly. Cas could do it; he could take care of everything and Dean could leave and drive away and never stop until he crashed and burned, like all good hunters did. His face wouldn’t stop hurting and he pressed it against the wall, ignoring the water as it stung his eyes and ignored the way his throat closed up and how his back and chest felt as if someone was tearing their way through with claws and fangs. 

_You should have let me die, Dean,_ his inner Sam continued. _This is your fault._

"Shit," he gasped out. "Shitshitshit." He couldn't lose it like this and he couldn't just leave Sam here with Cas. He needed to sack the fuck up and deal with it. Sam _needed_ him to keep it together. That's all that ever mattered, right? If Sam needed him, he'd do whatever it took to make it work. Dean closed his eyes and let go, ignoring the sounds coming out of his mouth, and if there was added wetness on his face, he didn’t register it, or any thought flying through his mind.

Dean stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later and forced himself to look in the mirror. His red-rimmed eyes stood out in contrast to his ashen face. The knuckles of his fists looked rubbed raw and he hated every inch of what he saw staring back at him.

A knock at the door jerked him out of his darkening line of thought. "Dean," Cas called, concern evident even muffled through the door. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he called back hoarsely, giving himself a shake to pull himself back together. He cleared his throat and said, slowly and clearly, "Be out in a sec."

"May I come in?" Cas asked.

Dean heard the handle on the door start to turn, so he shouted, "No! No. Dude, I'm naked. I'll be out in a minute."

"I've seen you in various states of undress a multitude of times," Cas replied, but the doorknob stopped turning. "I would not be bothered."

Dean quickly dressed in a pair of a boxer shorts and a t-shirt and opened the door to Cas, who apparently decided to stand only an inch away from it. "Personal space, Cas. We've had this talk about a thousand times."

"I've seen your soul, Dean," Cas replied as if that explained anything as he turned and led them both to Dean's bedroom.

Dean ignored him. 

"Do you wish to talk?" Cas asked, tilting his head. Sam was snoring away on Cas' shoulder, and he was being very gentle and quiet so as to not wake him. 

"Shouldn't I be asking you?" Dean said, deflecting. "I mean, you're only human, now. That's gotta be a head trip."

Cas stared at him for a moment, before conceding to Dean's silent request for a stay of execution, so to speak. "I am slowly becoming accustomed to being dominated by this vessel's constant need for upkeep."

"You have a gift for describing shit in the weirdest way possible, man," Dean said with a sigh as he flopped down his bed. 

"Where is Sam going to sleep tonight?" Cas asked as he shifted Sam in his arms again.

"I figure he can sleep in here with me. I'll push the bed against the wall, and sleep with him on the inside. Tomorrow, we can go out get all the shit we need now that we don't have a demon taking up trunk space." Dean groaned, just thinking about it. "Why don't you take Sammy to say goodnight to Kevin. I'll get the room set up in a minute." 

Cas opened his mouth to not doubt explain why Dean's suggestion was ridiculous, but Dean cut him off with an eye roll and pointed at the door. "Just do it. Then I'll take over baby duty and you go to sleep, change your clothes, and take a shower. Whatever you want."

"I should probably do them in the opposite order of what you listed." And with that, Cas left, and took Sam with him to find Kevin and no doubt explain Dean's request and how he didn't understand why he was being asked to do such a thing.

"Jesus," Dean swore under his breath. It only took a few minutes to rearrange the room and push the bed up against the wall, farthest from the door. Just like Dad used to do. Then Dean was left alone with his thoughts. Part of him wanted to pray. He wanted to pray to _Cas_ to come and help him, even though Cas _was_ there and _was_ helping him. Dean wanted angel Cas the same way he wanted _his_ Sammy. If wishes were horses, Dean thought bitterly.

"Kevin said goodnight to Sam," Cas said as he entered the room without as much as a hello. Dean watched as he dropped the diaper bag of supplies on Dean’s floor. "Sam, however, remained asleep."

"Give him here," Dean said, holding out his arms. Cas passed Sam over, and then pressed two fingers along the side of Sam’s face. Dean couldn’t look at him in the eye.

He stepped away from Cas. "Go on, I'll be fine. You go do what you need to do. Get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a day. Maybe not long, but certainly a pain in the ass."

"I will. Goodnight, Dean," Cas said, and then looked down at Sam. "Goodnight, Sam."

After Cas left, Dean placed Sam on the bed next to him, making sure to form his body into a protective barrier between Sam and the bedroom door. "It's just me and you, now." Sam brought his little fist up to his mouth, but remained sleeping. "Just me and you." Dean reached behind him and turned off the light.

Even listening to Sam’s even breathing, safe in the bunker; it took a very long time for Dean to fall asleep.


	4. It's A Slow Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief never asks permission before worming itself inside, demanding release. Dean tries to get back in the swing of things, but it's not easy. 
> 
> Many thanks to Djin7 for the beta.

~*~

Dean woke early the next morning, sore and alone. He has a clear memory of Castiel coming in to fetch Sam after Dean woke from a nightmare with a shout, startling Sam out of sleep.

Grudgingly, he forced himself out of bed to get dressed and face the day. Despite the sleep he'd gotten, he felt more tired than he had yesterday.

Half of him wanted to scare himself up a hunt so he could leave everything on his mind behind, but not only was that a chicken shit thing to do, part of him didn't know if he could force himself to come back.

He gathered himself together and opened his bedroom door. He walked down to Castiel's room, opened the door, stepped inside, and found Castiel asleep on his bed with his hand resting on top of Sam's belly, who was between Castiel and the wall; mirroring the way Dean had done it the night before. 

Sam would be up soon enough and Castiel needed the sleep, so he backed out of the room quietly and went to find Kevin to get their inevitable fight out of the way.

"So, you're up," Kevin said by way of greeting when he entered the library. Dean got a good look at the kid and noticed dark circles under his eyes, hands twitchy with too much caffeine and not enough sleep. 

Dean sighed. "Yep. You're pissed about something, so let's get this sorted."

"Pissed?" Kevin said, voice pitched. " _Pissed_? Oh no, Dean, I am beyond pissed! What's that...that...that monster still doing alive? Why haven't you killed him yet? That bastard killed my mother!"

"We don't know that for sure," Dean prevaricated, though he personally doubted Linda still lived. "And if we gank the jackass, we never will."

"And you think Crowley’s gonna spill his guts just because you ask?" Kevin glared at him, spreading his arms wide. "He's a _demon_ , Dean, _the fucking King of Hell_ or have you forgotten?"

"Look," Dean said, shrugging his shoulders. "I want to ice that bastard just as much as you do." Kevin snorted at that, but didn't interrupt. "But, he's got all sorts of information stored up in that crazy-ass head of his. For now, he's worth more alive than dead. As soon as that changes, I'll let you gank him yourself."

"Fine." Kevin crossed his arms across his chest and looked anything but fine. Actually, he looked just a little bit like _Sam_ in a snit, but Dean flinched away from that thought.

"There's more." Dean didn't think letting Kevin fester would do anyone any favors, though he hated to have to drag this out. "Spit it out."

"Just." Kevin sighed. "I get it, you know? I get why you didn't do it. But the gates to Hell are still open. And I..."

Suddenly, Dean understood what had been bothering Kevin last night. It was the cost; the price Kevin kept having to pay for being the goddamned Prophet time and time again. All that he'd given up and sacrificed had come to nothing. And there wasn't a damned thing Dean could do to make up for it.

"Is it really worth it?" Kevin asked, voice quiet. "Is it really worth keeping him alive, Dean? You say he has information, but what's it going to cost us? He's not going to give it to us for free."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Dean conceded. "But, what choice do we got right now? We didn't lock up Hell like we'd planned," Dean said, swallowing thickly. _His fault_. "And he knows where all his little demons are. Gotta at least try to find out as much as we can."

"Fine," Kevin said, shoulders slumped in defeat. "Just don't say I didn't warn you when it turns out to be a disaster."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll bet you," Dean bit down on the instinctive _Sam_ and took a moment before he grunted out, "Cas will be there with the 'I told you so' when it all goes to hell."

As if summoned, Castiel appeared at the doorway rumpled in his borrowed clothes, Sam in his arms, waving his arms around and babbling happily. Tufts of his feathery brown hair stood up on top of Sam's head, such a strange contrast from the longer locks Sam had grown to favor as an adult. His eyes were still about two shades lighter than the hazel they'd become. His round, chubby face was lit up with a gummy smile. "Good morning. I think someone is about to be loudly hungry."

Dean's eyes caught on how strange Castiel looked out of his suit and trench coat. He'd seen him wear other clothes before, but this somehow seemed odd. Castiel always had something otherworldly about him, something just slightest bit off despite his human host, but now he looked normal, like any other tired, rumpled guy. Dean felt just a bit disconcerted by it, but he ignored it and reached for Sam.

"Yeah, babies are like that," Dean said, more to Sam than anyone else. 

Castiel followed Dean into the kitchen area and slumped down at the table. "I thought sleep was supposed to be restful."

Dean looked at him over his shoulder. "It normally is, unless you wake up in the middle of it to take care of a crying baby, genius."

He placed Sam in the carrier still on top of the table trusting Cas to keep an eye on him, then went about making breakfast. In between making more coffee and some eggs, he fixed Sam a bottle, and handed it over to Cas to get Sam started. When the coffee was finished, he poured two cups and set one in front of Cas, who moaned as he took a long sip. "This tastes different, now, as a human," he said as he set the cup down. "I enjoy the flavor even more now."

"How did it taste before?" Dean asked after he got their breakfast plates sorted and sat down. He never really thought much about it, how angel taste buds worked. He knew they could eat, but most chose not to, for whatever reason he didn't give a shit about. 

"I do not know if I could put it into words," Cas said, and Dean figured that was fair enough. They continued eating, in silence, until Kevin shuffled into the room with the air of someone nearing a crash from too little sleep and too much caffeine, and made a beeline for the coffee maker.

Kevin joined him a minute later after he refilled his coffee and took the plate of food Dean had set aside for him. He greeted them by way of a low grunt before devoting his focus to eating.

"You wakin' up, buddy?" Dean asked Castiel, who looked only slightly more awake than when he appeared in the doorway with Sam. 

"Unfortunately," Cas replied and drank the last of his coffee. "I don't seem to have a choice in the matter." Sam continued to happily suck on his bottle, his feet kicking up every so often. 

"That's the spirit," Dean said, giving Cas a pat on the arm. "I figure we head out to town as soon as you're dressed and get the rest of the shopping done. That way we can focus on the research and planning."

"You don't need me for that," Castiel replied, looking morosely at his empty cup. Dean rolled his eyes as he got to his feet. He snatched the mug out of Castiel's hand, filled it up with the last of the coffee, and gave it back to him.

"Course I do. Who's gonna keep Sam occupied while I pick out all that baby crap I need?" Dean knew that he could theoretically leave Sam at the bunker with Cas and Kevin, but all his instincts screamed at him to keep Sam within arm’s reach. "Besides, you still need your own clothes."

Huffing, Cas sent Dean a sleepy-eyed glare. "I could continue to wear yours."

Unbidden, a blush fought its way to his cheeks. He shook his head of the thought accompanying it and gripped Cas' shoulder, squeezing it. "Quit fussin' about it, Cas, you're coming. I don't have anything in nerd to give you."

"Plus," Kevin added, "you don't want to dress like Dean, anyhow."

Castiel fixed Kevin with serious, intent expression. "Why? There's nothing wrong with the way Dean dresses."

Kevin's lips quirked into a small grin. "He dresses like a psychotic lumberjack, Cas. All that plaid. And weapons" He paused for a moment. "But he's okay."

"Ass," Dean said, trying to stop the instinctive grin. "C'mon, Cas, move your ass. I'd like to get this over with."

"Fine," Cas said, getting to his feet and bringing the dishes to the sink. "But, in return, you need to help me learn more about being human."

Oh, boy. A can of worms, right there. "Sure thing, Celeste."

"That is not my name," Cas said over his shoulder as he left the room.

"You need anything while we're out?" 

Kevin just looked at him, frowning.

"Or I guess you could come with, if you really want." Dean had about twenty reasons why Kevin coming with them was a bad idea, but he'd deal if it helped smooth things over between them.

"No, I'll stay here. Someone should, with..." Kevin hooked his thumb over his shoulder, presumably in the direction of Crowley.

"Don't go in there," Dean said, firm. "He'll just mess with you. Stay away from him."

"I can handle myself," Kevin said, surging to his feet. "I'm not a child anymore."

"He's bamboozled people three times your age and twice as smart." Dean suddenly thought that maybe taking Kevin along was the better idea.

"Fine!" Kevin held up his hands, "Fine. I won't go in there."

Dean eyed him suspiciously. Kevin capitulated way too easily. "How do I know you're not just saying that and plan on doin' the exact opposite the minute we leave?"

"I promise," Kevin said, crossing his fingers over his chest. "Seriously, I promise. I won't go in there."

Instinct told him that Kevin spoke the truth, but instinct also told him that the kid hadn't let it go entirely. "Fine. We won't be out long. Then me, you and Cas can have a little pow-wow over research."

When Castiel walked back into the kitchen ten minutes later, he had on another of Dean's shirts—old and worn, as if it'd been unearthed from the bottom of the drawers—and a pair of jeans that looked a bit tight in some places, baggy in others, and the slightest bit too long. 

Dean opened his mouth to comment on Cas' attire, but decided it'd be more bother than it was worth. "Gotta get Sam cleaned up. Get his bag ready, will you?" 

It took another twenty minutes to actually get out on the road, which Dean attributed to the fact that no one could make Sam do something he didn't want to, even get ready on time, even as a baby. 

"So," Dean said, tapping the steering wheel with his thumbs as he pulled out of the garage. "Got anything on your mind?" The nearest Wal-Mart was over an hour away, but Dean didn't really feel safe taking Sam into another store closer to the bunker. 

"Yes," Castiel said, but didn't explain further. He looked resolutely out the window as they drove toward the highway. 

Sighing, Dean shook his head. "Care to elaborate?"

"Oh," Cas said, and looked over at him, as if deciding whether Dean could handle what he wanted to say. "Yes. I am troubled." 

"'Bout what?"

Castiel looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap. "What my fellow angels will do now...I do not know if I'm more concerned about the ones who can find vessels or the ones who cannot. Angels are not...inclined towards free will, as you've seen, and I'm unsure how well they will cope. Some have never been outside of Heaven."

"I'm sure it'll be our headache, sooner or later," Dean said, cursing Metatron for being one of the biggest dicks in the whole dick flock. "Nothin' we can do about it right this second."

"I know," Cas replied, and Dean figured that was part of the problem. Cas never did handle feeling powerless well. "And being a human...it's so overwhelming."

Dean glanced over at Cas, and saw the frown on his face, deeper than his usual scowl of annoyance. "How so?" 

"I am unused to the sensations," Castiel explained. "I accidentally walked into the bed post last night as I returned from yet another trip to the bathroom. It hurt."

"You what, stubbed your toe?" Dean asked, laughter bubbling up inside of him, because it sounded so ridiculous to think of Castiel, his Cas, someone he'd seen smite a room filled with demons without breaking a sweat complain about stubbing his toe in the dark after coming back from taking a leak. "How the mighty have fallen..."

"Dean," Cas said, voice disapproving. "I haven't had years to get used to the limitations of this form."

"You'll get the hang of it in no time, buddy," Dean said, and gave Castiel a pat on the thigh.

"Thank you," Cas said, sounding intently sincere. "You said you'd give me advice..."

"Oh," Dean said, quickly darting a glance to the backseat where Sam kicked playfully in his seat, waving around his tiny stuffed animal. "Well, to start, never eat a chili cheese dog before going on a long car ride."

"I have no idea what that means."

Dean just laughed. "Never hustle pool with a dude who could break you in half."

"I'll just leave the hustling to you."

After another moment, Dean chuckled again. "Don't wear socks with sandals." He remembered his unfortunate time pretending to be a high school gym teacher and added, "And make sure if you wear shorts, they're long enough not give you any southern exposure."

Cas looked at Dean as if he were speaking an alien language he didn't understand. "I'll endeavor to wear the proper length clothing."

"Oh, and this is really important," Dean said, smiling, "there are only three Star Wars movies, two Alien movies, and there's only one Dr. Sexy."

"I see," Cas said in a way that meant he didn't know what Dean was talking about in the least. 

"Look, no one gets decades worth of pop culture downloaded into their brains in a blink. You get it by experiencing things, watching things, reading things. Don't worry," Dean assured him with another pat on Cas' thigh. "We'll have a couple of movie marathons when we get some time. You'll be making obscure references of your own in no time."

"I look forward to it," Castiel replied earnestly. "Anything else I should know?"

"What do you want to know about?" Dean asked, because there was a lot of shit about being human he took for granted as he'd never known anything else. He wanted to help Cas, but really he didn't know where to start in terms of what Cas actually needed to know outside of what movies to watch and music to listen to first.

"I understand that humans need to eat and sleep. I understand that they get sick and experience pain," Castiel began, "but I don't understand the fullness and complexity of the emotions that humans experience.

"Hell, Cas," Dean said, because, man, was that not ever simple. "I guess the important thing to know is it'll never make sense." Castiel's brow wrinkled in confusion as he waited for Dean to continue. "Sometimes you'll get overexcited about something dumb. Some people cry when they're happy and laugh when they're pissed. They yell when they're just a bit annoyed and get quiet when they're furious. They scowl when pleased and smile when they're sad. And sometimes, you'll feel a bunch of these things at once about the same damned thing. 

"Why?" Castiel lost a bit of the confused-puppy expression and instead adopted that look of curious fascination he used to have when Dean did or felt something he didn't get in the old days. 

"Hell if I know," Dean replied, because the people paid to understand that shit couldn't even agree on an answer. "But you'll get used to it."

"With your help, I'm sure I will," Castiel said with a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth. 

Dean couldn't help but feel a tug in his gut at the sight of him, so he distracted himself by thinking of some of the more mundane and goofy things Cas should know about humanity...the Cola Wars or the Super Bowl or hula hoops or something dumb like that.

He pulled into the parking lot about ten minutes after giving Cas another few pearls of wisdom, to which Castiel responded to with an increasingly bemused expression. It made no sense to Castiel now, but he'd undoubtedly file it all away in that nerdy, little brain of his and understand later. As soon as Dean parked, a fairly attractive woman walked by their car, prompting Dean to nod in her direction to get Cas’ attention. "Oh, yeah. If you end up going out with the intention of gettin' freaky with someone, make sure you bring protection with you."

"I never leave without my angel blade," Cas replied with a tone so flat, that Dean would have sworn it had to be a joke coming from anyone else. However, Castiel just sat their looking as earnest as ever and Dean nearly lost it, laughing so hard he bumped his head against the steering wheel. In that moment, he wanted to share the joke with someone so badly— _don't think about Sammy, don't_ —that the amusement left him as if it'd never been there at all.

Castiel, of course, noticed how quickly his mood sobered, and asked, "Dean, are you all right?"

"Fine!" Dean said, bordering on a shout. He tempered his voice, and tried again. "Fine. Yeah, let's get this over with."

They grabbed a cart, placed Sam's carrier in the area for it, and headed for the men's clothes section. "See anything you like?" Dean asked as they walked toward the racks of various button down shirts.

"I never was overly concerned with the fashion of humans," Cas said as he picked up a Kansas City Chiefs shirt, bright red with the arrowhead lined in white. 

"You'll be right at home around here wearin' that, but I'd advise you never to wear it on a case," Dean commented, poking around the nearby shelf until he found a few three-packs of black Hanes in Cas' size. He tossed that and a few packs of socks into the cart. "Boxers or briefs?"

"This vessel came with boxers," Castiel said, looking over at him as he put the Chiefs shirt back on the rack. "I have no preference."

"Couple of each, then," Dean said. "Just pick out a few things, see what you like. If you end up liking somethin' a bunch, we can always get you more later."

"All right," Cas replied and Dean felt grateful, not wanting to spend his entire day with an ex-angel picking out clothes. He told Cas which size to go for, and Castiel, efficient as always, deftly went through four racks, picking out random shirts and pants. Even if nothing matched, Cas'd still fit right in with the rest of humanity.

They meandered their way over to the baby section, making a few stops along the way for a watch for Cas, a few things here and there to dress up Castiel's room, and a few pairs of different footwear, good for the life they were leading. Dean made quick work of grabbing the remaining stuff for Sam, who'd woken up unhappy—and a strong odor told him exactly why—after Dean had sent the high chair and portable crib upfront with an associate who'd been pricing strollers in the baby department. 

Castiel took Sam to the bathroom to change him with the directive to meet Dean up at the front of the store when he'd finished. Dean trudged to the checkout lanes, glad to be done, when he saw a small ceramic figurine of Winnie-The-Pooh eating honey with a couple of bees sitting on the pot. Dean immediately thought of Crazy-ass Cas with his damned bees, covering his naked ass while he lay on Dean's car, and later when he popped in with home-made honey. Without any real thought as to why, he tossed it into the cart.

"Sam all set?" Dean asked when Castiel approached him Sam at the cash register. Sam had a look on his face that said he'd be fussing again in minutes if they didn't figure out what he wanted. 

Cas gave a shrug as he offered Sam one of his fingers. "I think he's bored." 

"I got him a few things," Dean said, and the checkout lady picked out a set of plastic keys, scanned it, and offered it to Dean with a smile on her face. "Thanks."

"He's a real cutie," she commented as Dean handed the toy to Sam who shook the keys with delight.

Dean swallowed thickly. "Thanks." He paid and quickly ushered Castiel and Sam out of the store, still not comfortable when anyone but him and Cas paid Sam any attention.

"Will he be up for the drive back?" Castiel asked as they walked back to the car. He had Sam's carrier in one hand and a few bags that wouldn't fit in the cart in the other.

"Why wouldn't he be?" Dean asked, mostly focused on putting the packages away in the trunk and backseat.

"I was unsure if it'd be interrupting his feeding schedule. I admit I hadn't paid close attention the last few days to the time."

"Oh," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The past few days have been a clusterfuck anyhow, flying by the seat of our pants and what not. He ate about two hours ago, so he should be due for another bottle when we get back home. I'm not an expert, Cas. Last time I was around a baby, it was a shifter on a three-day job years ago."

"I will research it on the laptop when we get home," Castiel said decisively as he placed Sam's carrier in the back seat, hooking it into place as if he'd done it a thousand times before. Dean felt mildly impressed, but Castiel learned quickly in every area but in how not to sound awkward when speaking to other humans. 

The trip home was fairly quiet, and Sam fell asleep about a minute and a half into _Comfortably Numb_. Castiel wanted to listen to the news, but Dean put the kibosh on that real quick. Last thing he needed was Castiel fretting all the way home. Pink Floyd always did calm Sam in the car when he was younger, and Dean hoped it would do the same for Cas.

Sam didn't wake until they pulled into the garage, but when he did, he started wailing, it became clear he was wet and hungry and pissed about both.

"Change him and I'll get his bottle ready," Dean ordered, and Castiel nodded his agreement and swept Sam and the diaper bag with him as he entered the bunker. Dean carried in about half of the bags and dumped them on the table, then went to go fix Sam's bottle. He didn't bother with the highchair, because Sam wasn't gonna have more solids 'til dinner anyhow.

When the bottled was ready, he left it on the table and went back to the car for the rest of the crap they bought. Why did it always feel like more carrying it in than when tossing it into the cart?

"Slowly," Dean heard Castiel say as he came back inside. "You'll get sick otherwise." He leaned against the counter wand watched Castiel feed Sam, talking to him as he did. "Last time I let you eat too fast, you spit up all over my shirt. Well, technically, it was Dean's shirt."

"Hey," Dean said, and Castiel looked up, wearing a tiny smile. "I should make you wash that."

"I rinsed it in the sink. It's hanging over one of the hooks in the bathroom."

"Next time use one of those burp towels, spare you the trouble," Dean said as he started to unpack their purchases.

"Next time I wake up groggy and exhausted in the middle of the night to feed a hungry, demanding infant, I'll come to you to ensure I do it the proper way," Castiel sniped back. 

Dean grinned.

~*~

"They don't really have a whole helluva lot on angels," Kevin told Castiel as they sat side by side in the library, looking through a few piles of books, folders, and journals. They'd been at it for hours, and had little to show for it. "And the stuff they do have isn't all that relevant. Here's something they have on 'the nature of angels'."

"Let me see," Castiel said, reading the document, his face turning down in a frown toward the end. "You're right. That's not going to help our situation, much. I’m sure the Men of Letters never anticipated needing to know more about the Heavenly Host, such as how to defend oneself against them."

"What's it say?" Dean asked, pushing his own book aside. Sam's back was snug against his chest, resting in the baby sling. He watched everything curiously, babbling every few seconds when he noticed no one's attention was on him.

"It's about expelling an angel out of its vessel without killing it."

"Might be useful," Dean said, thinking of all the times they just ganked the fuckers. Same could be said for all the times he'd used Ruby’s knife on demons, too. Usually, they didn't have enough time to do any sort of exorcism these days, and vessels always tended to be worse for wear anyhow, dead already. Dean didn't like to think about it too much. He desperately wanted a drink, but when he'd gone for the liquor, Cas had pulled the bottle back and had given him a glass of water instead. 

"It's complicated," Castiel said, and couldn't that be said for everything?

"We're not going about this the smart way," Kevin said, closing his book. "We should assess our knowledge first and then use that as a starting point to guide our research. I would have never have been so sloppy a few years ago." Kevin stared silently at his book for a few moments before he looked up with a chagrined expression. Dean wondered if Kevin was thinking back to when he was just Mr. Advanced Placement instead of a Prophet in the Winchester Protection Program. "I'm just cranky. And hungry. All right. So far, what do we even know?"

"We know that the spell forcibly removed all the angels from heaven and locked the gates. We know that the angels had their wings damaged as they fell to earth. It will be difficult for those to heal. In fact, the only reason why Laylah could use hers at all was due to her special gift for healing."

"Right, so no angel's gonna be knockin' on Heaven's door for a least a little while," Dean said, huffing a frustrated sigh, and stared up at the ceiling. His patience with this type of needle-in-a-haystack research shit had never been great, but now it was even worse. Dean was by no means a slouch in figuring out answers when he needed them, but he tended to do better when there was at least a bit of information to comb through. When all he had to look through couldn't fill the back of a slip of paper in a fortune cookie, Dean got frustrated quick. Nothing in him really wanted to deal with this shit, but he wanted to deal with hundreds of pissed off angels running amok on earth even less.

"Added to that," Castiel continued, "angels require permission to enter into a vessel and most humans are unable to hear an angel's true voice to ask and are ill-suited for the task, anyhow. You recall how Lucifer's first vessel appeared after a while. It started to break down, burn from the inside out. Most humans who are not immediately killed, will likely look like that after a while."

"So, we really need to get those dicks back up to where they belong as quick as possible," Dean said, as he poked through his book again, maneuvering around Sam, bundled on him, still playing with his small toy key ring. He thought longingly of a couple of drinks and a Dr. Sexy marathon.

"Yes, that would be prudent." Cas got to his feet and walked over to Dean. "I agree with Kevin, however. We're not making any progress with the resources we have. Kevin and I are going to make some dinner, are you hungry?"

"Not really," Dean said, his appetite had been for shit lately. "I'll just keep at it. You two go ahead."

"Would you like me to take Sam with me? I think he's due for a meal, soon," Castiel asked, and Dean felt that familiar tug of being torn between wanting Cas to take care of everything and not wanting to let Sam out of his sight.

"Sure," Dean said after a minute. He got up and held Sam close as Cas unbuckled the baby sling. Dean then helped Castiel put it on. 

"This is a very useful device," Castiel commented as Dean adjusted the straps. "And Sam seems to enjoy it."

"Be good for Cas," Dean said to Sam, nudging his chin. "Be good for Sam," added to Castiel, and nudged at his chin, too. "I'll be here if you need me."

"Of course, Dean," Castiel replied, voice all soft and imploring. Dean looked away from the way Castiel looked at him, never having done well with that reverential gaze, and focused again on the book. When he looked up again, it was to see Cas looked over his shoulder at him as he left the room behind Kevin. 

Dean turned his attention back to the book. It'd been written in that fancy semi-archaic nerd dialect that most books seemed so fond of. Taking twice as many words than it actually needed to explain just about everything. He'd spent as much time parsing what this bastard had been trying to say as he'd taken to read a passage to begin with in the first place. It wasn't too bad, though, and Dean kept jotting down a few notes and page numbers to save for when Cas and Kevin came back. 

Forty pages later, Dean got to a few paragraphs in another language, and without any translation because the fucker who wrote this was a jackass. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said, not looking up, "come help with this shit." 

Silence met his question and he tore away from the book only to see Sam's little stuffed bunny off to the side and everything came slamming into him again. Part of Dean couldn't believe he'd forgotten, even for a moment, but now the knowledge was back, digging into him like a knife between his ribs. "God-fucking damn it," he yelled, picking up his glass and throwing it against the wall. 

This time, he couldn't help the way everything choked up in his throat, and he couldn't help the way the tears leaked out of his eyes without permission. Dean wanted to scream, to yell, to go out to a bar and get drunk and fuck the first person who said yes. He wanted back in purgatory where things felt pure and all he did was gank motherfuckers left and right. He wanted the hell out of this nightmare of his own making.

"Dean." 

Castiel's voice pulled him back, and Dean was suddenly aware of his surroundings. He was standing in the middle of the library, books, papers, and shards of glass scattered about, his own chest heaving from exertion, and every inch of his body aching and sore, face suspiciously wet. "What," he asked, his voice gruff.

He didn't reply, but Castiel slowly approached him as one would a wounded animal. "Dean," he said again, voice painfully gentle. Dean didn't know who moved first, but he found himself in an awkward embrace, holding Castiel as tightly as Castiel was holding him. 

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said quietly in his ear. He didn't continue, and Dean was glad for it. It was bad enough that he was allowing Cas to see him this needy in the first place. But Cas wouldn't tell anyone, wouldn't think of him less for it. 

"Yeah, well," Dean said as he moved back, shaking it off, pulling himself back to rights. "It doesn't matter. Can't change anything."

"Of course it matters," Castiel argued, eyes imploring him to understand. "You're allowed to miss Sam, Dean. You're allowed to grieve him."

"He's still here, ain't he?" Dean said, looking around at the disaster and hoping for the will to clean it up.

"Yes," Castiel said, "but in almost all the ways that matter, your brother is lost to you. Allow yourself time to mourn."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, but his heart wasn't in it. Every time he caught himself missing Sam, guilt swarmed its way through him after, a voice in his head sounding too much like his father telling him to buck up and deal with it. 

"Dean," Castiel said again, and this time it felt like being chided. 

Rolling his eyes, Dean put his hand up. "Just can it, okay."

Castiel just stood there, watching him the way he used to when he was an angel and cheated by reading his mind or emotions or whatever and Dean thought it completely unfair that he could still make him feel that way, even as a human. "All right," Castiel said at last. "Perhaps we should both get some sleep. Sam is not yet sleeping through the night, though the internet said that it's not uncommon."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "After I clean this mess up."

"This can wait until tomorrow," Castiel said, gentle yet firm and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder to guide him out of the room. Dean wanted to shake him loose, just to make a point that Cas wasn't in charge, but it seemed like more trouble that it was worth. He was just so damned tired. 

Castiel walked Dean to his door, hesitating before continuing on to his own. "Goodnight, Dean," he called and shut the door behind him.

“Thanks, Cas” Dean said to a shut door. 

When he turned around, the first thing Dean saw was Sam, who was fast asleep in his little portable crib. He looked peaceful, and Dean envied him, just a little.

Mechanically, he got ready for bed and crawled under the blankets, and wished fervently that he wouldn't wake up the next morning.

He was still staring at his sleeping baby brother when he finally nodded off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I last posted. My beta and I both ended up with demanding RLs for a while. Chapter 5 is already finished and just about ready to go, so there's a silver lining.


	5. An Attempt At Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel finally opens up about his worries and Dean has a setback.
> 
> Many thanks to DJin7 for the beta.

~*~

Dean woke with a start. Sitting up in a flash, gun drawn before he calmed down enough to recognize his own bedroom. His dreams had been filled with blood and demons and memories better left buried. He breathed deeply to calm himself and set his gun carefully back under his pillow, noting that he should probably find a new home for it now. He glanced over to the crib, saw it empty, and felt a new wave of panic crash over him.

He didn't bother getting dressed, just yanked his door open and stormed down the hall in his boxers, only to be stopped short by Castiel's low, rough voice singing one of Dean's favourite songs as he swayed with Sam over his shoulder in the middle of Castiel's bedroom.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas called to him, glancing at him over Sam's head. Dean took a moment to allow his body to relax, and his heart to stop pounding to grunt out a greeting in return.

"Didn't hear you come into my room," Dean explained, unnerved. That anyone, even Cas, could enter his room without him waking, bothered him. That he didn't hear Sam's cries bothered him. That he was four days into this whole disaster and already fucking up bothered him. He voiced none of this, however, and simply stood there watching as Sam chewed on the fabric of Cas' shirt.

"I couldn't sleep," Castiel admitted, and now that Dean looked, he could see the bags under his eyes. "I heard Sam as he woke when I passed by your room. He wasn’t crying," Cas added, as if to calm any fears Dean had that he'd slept through it, somehow. 

"Wake me next time, will you?" Dean said, even though he had a feeling that whether Cas woke him depended entirely upon whether Cas deemed Dean sufficiently rested. 

Cas simply inclined his head. "Ah, I didn't mean to cause you distress."

"You didn't 'cause me distress'," Dean lied, despite it being obvious. "I just don't like waking up and not knowin' what's going on."

"All right," Castiel agreed amiably, too amiably, which pretty much meant that Cas would continue to do as he damn well pleased.

"Now give him here," Dean said, reaching out for Sam. "You're not on baby duty twenty-four/seven."

With visible reluctance, Castiel handed over Sam, and Dean wondered what that was all about, but didn't have a chance to ask because Sam took it upon himself to lay siege to Dean's senses and pollute the entire room with a god-awful smell only rivaled by fresh corpses and landfills. 

"What in the hell did you feed him?" Dean asked as he carried Sam over to bed to change him. "Toxic waste?"

"That wasn't on the approved list of items to feed a baby on the website I looked at," Castiel replied, and had Dean not known Cas so well, he’d have missed that attempt at a joke, because the delivery was no different from any other random statement Cas so often threw out there. Then, Sam thought it was a fine time to let loose a little more, and Dean just barely missed getting shot in the eye by quickly covering Sam up with the diaper he'd meant to change him with.

"All right, George Carlin, hand me another diaper, will you?" Dean asked, holding his free hand out. 

"I hadn't realized diaper changing could be this hazardous," Castiel commented, watching Sam over Dean'sshoulder. 

"This ain't even the worst of it," Dean said, tossing the used diaper into the bin near the door. 

"I'm afraid to ask," Cas replied as he puttered about the room. After a few minutes of Dean playing with Sam, Cas added, "The smell isn't going away."

"That's 'cause his shitty diaper's sittin' in your trash can without a lid, genius." 

Cas stared at him for a moment. "Then why did you put it there?"

"Where else was I supposed to put it, in my pocket?" Dean tugged a Sam's foot, earning himself a giggle.

"Dean," Cas said, sighing, but picked up the bin and carried it out of the room. 

Shrugging, Dean scooped up Sam, and went to start the day. 

Dean hadn't bothered joining Castiel and Kevin in the library after breakfast. Instead, he dressed Sam up warmly and plonked him in the baby sling, then went out to walk around the property acreage. Even though Dean had never been keen on exposing himself to nature more than absolutely necessary, a restless itch under his skin drove him outside.

Sam enjoyed it, which made it worth while, even though Dean didn't care too much about what the trees looked like so much as he was happy to not be indoors, trapped, for a moment. He stayed out until he'd swatted away one bug too many, then trucked them both back inside and down to the garage. Dean sat down in the first car he came to that had a wide, roomy front, and let Sammy slap his hands on the steering wheel as he babbled happily as he kicked his feet.

He paid half a thought to Kevin, bitter and desperately angry, and Castiel, who'd looked on the verge of expressing some indefinable emotion when Dean had talked to him last during breakfast. Then, Sam burbled, spit dripping wetly over his chin, and Dean found his attention drawn forcibly back on his baby brother. God, Dean sighed. That it was a literal fact now just kept hitting him over and over again, like it was this new, unexpected thing.

"Shit," Dean cursed under his breath. He needed to stop letting it get to him. Nothin' to be done about it and no sense in dwelling on it, either. Lunchtime, Dean decided, so he could put off thinking just a bit longer. And if he filled his days with shit to put off thinking just a bit longer, then so much the better.

Castiel looked like crap when he'd shown up for lunch. (Kevin had shown up, taken his food, and left, grouchily.) Cas ate mechanically, added little to the conversation save for a few grunts and a murmur of appreciation, and had seemed about ten seconds away from faceplanting into his food, if he let himself. Which he looked like he was fighting with all the energy he could muster.

"Hey," Dean said, nodding his head toward the bedrooms. "Sam needs a nap. Come walk with me." 

Not bothering to even voice a protest, Castiel followed along, shuffling quietly behind him. 

Sam went down to sleep without much of a fuss, and Dean took the opportunity to corral Castiel back to his own room. He pushed him to sit on the bed, which he did, and then looked up expectantly at Dean.

"You look tired," Dean pointed out. Obvious it may be, but it was a start. "Said you couldn't sleep last night."

"My dreams were unsettling," Castiel said, fingers tense on his pants. "I found it difficult to fall back asleep once I woke. What do you do when that happens?"

Dean thought Cas needed to follow Dean's example like he needed a hole in the head. He could remember that other Cas, the one he'd seen years ago, as a drugged up hippie, sleeping with people too stoned or stupid to care. So, Dean swallowed down his initial idea of handing Cas a bottle a of booze and a healthy side of buck the fuck up and said the only other thing he thought that might help. "Talk to me."

"Is that what you do?" Cas asked, tone sharp, gaze penetrating. 

Dean just rolled his eyes. "We're not talkin' about me, right now. We're talkin' about you. So, get on with it."

"Fine," Castiel said with the air of a willing defeat. "My dreams...or maybe _memories_ is a better word…are of a time of great distress. I felt trapped in that place again."

Dean just watched him, hoping Castiel would elaborate. His patience paid off a few moments later, because Castiel spoke again. "The room. And everything in it." 

"You planning on makin' sense anytime soon?" Dean asked lightly, and he immediately knew he said the wrong thing because Cas' face crumpled more than it already had.

"Dean," Cas said, pained. ""Did you ever wonder why I almost end your life when we found the tablet?"

Nodding, Dean braced himself for what undoubtedly would be a difficult conversation.

"It's in an angel's nature to obey, to do God's will, to never question orders. It can't have escaped your notice that I'm somewhat of an anomaly in that regard." Dean inclined his head in agreement, quirking his lips in a way he thought said, 'No shit.' Castiel took a deep breath and continued, "Very rarely an angel will become implacable, if you will. At times like these, they're sent to be," Castiel swallowed, "reeducated. It is not a simple process or one that can be achieved easily if an angel is resolved on their path." Castiel paused, then, and Dean had the sense that the rather detached way Cas was explaining this whole painful mess was because it was easier for him that way.

"It was determined that I merited a special brand of reeducation due to the severity of my multiple transgressions and steadfast unwillingness to follow out particular orders I found...distasteful and my devotion to you and your brother, often above that of the Heavenly Host."

Dean's stomach clenched at that, but he refused to give himself away. Cas needed him, and if Castiel noticed his distress, he'd focus on Dean instead. He reached over and gave Castiel's shoulder a firm squeeze, to which Castiel responded with a grateful smile. 

"The most reliable method of retraining is conditioning through repetition and desensitization; forcing that angel to repeat the desired action over and over again, hundreds of times, against hundreds and hundreds of simulacrum, until they can complete the task without hesitation or emotion. " Castiel looked a thousand miles away as he spoke. Dean tried his best to not imagine what it was like for Cas in his Heavenly Brainwashing Bootcamp. 

Castiel swallowed thickly, and Dean wanted to just stop him to spare them both the rest of the revelation they'd both not be able to ignore any longer.

"I was saved from Purgatory by them to be used as a weapon, and then my memory was altered again and again to keep me bound to them. The angel who ordered me to do that, the one who forced me to kill yet another of my brothers, the one who had me doing unconscionable things without me even being aware of it was the same one you were asking me to trust."

"Son of a bitch," Dean grated out. Naomi had played him well, too, hadn't she? “That bitch. But, Cas, it didn’t work, you didn’t kill me, and you didn’t give them the tablet.”

"Thankfully, Naomi seriously underestimated my ability to kill the real you—"

Dean winced at that, imagining the worst, knowing it was enough to keep Cas in nightmares.

Cas continued, "And as a result I was able to keep the tablet from her."

Dean had to ask, "But Metatron? Why did you trust him? Didn't he come off as a bit shady to you?"

"I trusted him because I needed to trust him. Since I retrieved your soul, I've learned I couldn't trust so many of my brothers and sisters. When we met, I told you that angels were not benevolent guardians but warriors of God. God's plans might not always seem 'good' from humanity's point of view, but He did maintain balance."

"So, what, you're saying God's lawful neutral?" Dean saw the 'I don't get that reference expression' on Cas' face, and just waved his hand. "Forget it. Balance. Right."

"After the failed apocalypse, and my own...poor choices, the state of Heaven and the angels was terrifyingly unbalanced. I wanted to, I needed to trust that another angel could see that, and want to help after so many betrayals, my own included. Metatron had spent so much time here, with humanity, soaking up the history; I thought his intentions were more on par with my own."

"I get it," Dean said, tiredly. "It fucking sucks." Because there were a bunch of angels on earth, running amok, that cagey bastard had tricked Cas with kindness, but was still was in Heaven with the gates locked, demons were still free to roam the earth, Sam was a baby, and they had the King of Hell locked in the bunker. It sucked, but they’d all made choices, and here they were.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said, meaning it. "After I fell, I almost didn't dare believe you'd forgive me. Even after you took me into your home and gave me all this," Castiel gestured around the room," I worried..."

"You're family, Cas," Dean said firmly. "I've said it before and I'll say it again 'til it gets through your thick skull." He rapped Cas lightly on the head. "It means you're stuck with me, got it?"

Castiel fixed him with an intense stare that threatened a blush to crawl up his skin. "I will endeavor to be worthy of your loyalty."

"Nah, man," Dean said, sitting right down next to Castiel on the bed. He reached over and gave Cas a one-armed hug. "That's not how to think about it. Family means stickin' together through thick and thin. It means burying all the bullshit and movin' on from it. It means forgiveness."

"Does it?" Castiel asked, turning his head to look at Dean. Apparently being human didn't cure Cas of his personal space issues, because Cas had no problems with how close their faces were now. 

Dean leaned back without making a big deal of it, and shrugged as he said, "Sure." 

Cas looked at him, and Dean couldn’t help but feel that he was missing something. Then he said, "That does put my mind at ease. "

Clapping Cas on the back, Dean got up to his feet. "Good. Think you'll be able get some shut-eye tonight?"

"I guess." Castiel didn't sound overly convinced, but he seemed lighter anyhow. "I appreciate you having this talk with me tonight. I am unaccustomed to releasing my burden this way."

"Angel radio used to do the job for you?" Dean hazarded a guess. Castiel nodded in response. "It's fine, Cas. Though, feel free to hit up Kevin if you ever are in need of some girl talk." 

"You're kinder than you give yourself credit for, Dean," Castiel replied, ignoring the 'girl talk' comment Dean had hoped would get at least a bit of a rise out of him to diffuse the heavy atmosphere.

"Right." Dean said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door. "Gotta check on El-wishes-he-was-Diablo."

"Your Spanish needs work," Castiel said as he got up and shuffled over to the drawer on the bedside table. He pulled out a small, dark-brown book, and tucked it under his arm.

"Whatcha readin'?" Dean asked, looking down at the book, but not seeing a title. 

Castiel looked at him. "Nothing at the moment."

Before Dean could get into yet another semantics argument with Cas, Sam decided it was his cue to start crying. Dammit. Dean knew he’d gone to sleep too easily. Cas looked like he might go to him, but Dean held a hand up. "Nah, go read your book. I'd tell you to have a nap, too, but it’s still midday and it'd screw with your sleep cycle, try to stay awake for a little while, so you can sleep later. I've got him."

This time, Castiel didn't even attempt to argue with Dean, which he would have found suspicious if Sam's cries didn't pull his attention away once more.

After getting Sam back to sleep, Dean puttered around for a while, and then made his way down to where Crowley festered in the dungeon.

Dean slammed open the doors, hoping to startle his prisoner, but he only blinked a little at the light streaming in. 

"Oh, and to what do I owe the pleasure?" Crowley said, tone aiming for sarcastic indifference, but failing. He looked rough -- clothes unkempt and face drawn.

"You're gonna give me some information," Dean said, leering a little while pulling an angel blade out of his sleeve and twirled it.

"And what makes you think I'll do such a thing?" Crowley asked, haughty as ever. "I have a personal policy to never give anything away for free. It just sets a bad precedent."

"You're gonna tell me where all your earth-bound demons are and you're gonna do it with a song in your heart or I'll jam this through it, instead."

"But you won't actually follow through with that, will you, darling?" Crowley asked, annoying sure with himself. He shot Dean a saucy grin, and if he hadn't been tied up, Dean was sure he'd be strutting. 

Dean gripped the blade and decided that all Crowley really needed was a bit of follow-through. He took a few menacing steps toward him, jaw locked, and prepared to give him a taste of what he'd be willing to do to find out what he wanted, when Castiel tapped on the door and stuck his head inside. "Dean."

"Yeah, Cas," Dean asked, not taking his eyes off Crowley, though he stopped his advance. 

"Someone has been calling Sam's cell phone," Castiel said hesitantly. "I found it in Sam’s effects from the hospital, and I have been keeping it charged. I did not answer it, but I thought it might be important."

"I'm comin'," Dean said, turning away from Crowley. "Might be a job."

When Dean reached the door, Crowley yelled to him, "Surprised you haven't asked me about how to fix the mess you've gotten dear baby brother into yet."

Dean made to turn around and ask, but Castiel gripped him firmly by the arm and tugged him out of the room. He slammed the door shut before pushing Dean up against it. "You will not talk to that piece of filth about Sam."

"Hey!" Dean growled out, even if he made no move to push away. "I can do what I damn well please! Sam's my responsibility."

"And you are mine," Castiel said, Dean wanted to argue that, especially now that Cas no longer had any angel juice. "Crowley is a filthy abomination. He lies. He kills. He would not hesitate to manipulate and deceive you under the pretense of helping Sam only to leave you in ruins. Do not trust him."

All that Castiel said was true, and Dean knew it, but he couldn't stop the niggling in the back of his head wanting him to go back inside and demand Crowley tell him what he’d meant by that, and how he knew about it. "But what if there's a nugget of truth under the pile of bullshit, huh?"

"You heard what Laylah said, Dean," Castiel reminded him, voice unbearably kind. "There is no easy way. There's just life. Anything Crowley tells you will only cause pain and misery. He is a demon..."

"And demons lie," Dean finished with a tired nod. "Yeah, I got it." Dean made to leave, but Castiel didn't follow. He turned and looked back at him, and saw the look on his face which always meant trouble for someone. "You comin'?"

"I'll be right along," Castiel assured, but he made no effort to follow. "Sam's probably going to be hungry soon."

It was a low blow, but an effective one. "Just don't do anything stupid."

"Of course not, Dean," Castiel promised, but Dean didn't know whether to buy it. Still, Sam needed food and he needed to be away from Crowley.

After giving Sam his afternoon bottle, he forced himself to go take a look at Sam's phone. There were a pile of text messages and three voicemails. He glanced through the texts, but saw nothing important that stood out. He punched in Sam’s code (Dean’s birthday, and his was Sam’s. He briefly thought he’d have to change his, now, but his brain skittered quickly away from that thought) to listen to the voicemails, ignoring the way his hand shook as he did it. 

One was an automated call informing him of a winning draw for a cruise, which Dean deleted part-way through. The second was Jody, who'd called to check in—Dean clenched his eyes and wondered what the hell he'd even say to her—after it finished, he hit save. The last one was a hunter friend with a possible job. Dean saved that one, too, and decided to check it out in the morning. It sounded like it could wait.

He almost just turned off the phone, when it indicated there was another saved message. Dean hesitated a moment, then pushed the button to play it. "Dean," came the familiar voice in his ear, and it took everything in him to stand up straight, or to not to toss the phone across the room. "It's me, Sam. Of course you know that. This is so awkward. I thought I'd take the chance to make this while I'm alone. You're off getting food. I don't think I'll make it out of this. Don't know if I want to. If I die, and if you're listening to this, I probably am, just let me rest. Don't go sacrificing yourself to bring me back. Don't make deals with demons or anything else. I want you to live. And I don't mean drinking yourself into an early grave. I mean really, really live. I know we don't say it much, but I love—" and then the message was cut off. Dean closed his eyes, gripping the phone tight in his hand, and tried his very, very best not to let the tears fall.

He opened them again when he heard steps coming up behind him. He turned and saw Cas standing there, looking slightly angry, knuckles slightly red, and a frown on his face. It quickly morphed into worry, and Castiel was right up in face before he had a moment to blink. "Dean, are you all right? What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," Dean said, hoping his voice wouldn't break. "Ain't nothin'. Just a job, maybe. Nothin' that can't wait ‘til tomorrow."

"Dean," Castiel said, and it sounded like the beginning of an argument he couldn't handle right then.

He just held up a hand, and shook his head. "It's nothing," he repeated firmly. "Take care of Sammy for me for a bit?"

"Of course," Castiel agreed readily, but he didn't move, didn't stop staring at Dean like he could figure him out if he tried hard enough. He reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder, but Dean jerked away. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Dean lied, and this time he knew his voice was nowhere near steady. "Just need you to mind Sam for a few hours while I do somethin' that just came up."

"If that's what you need from me," Castiel said, posture relaxing minutely. "I'm here for you."

"Good," Dean said, with a nod. "Good." And with that, he walked away.

Dean made his way through the bunker, first to the kitchen for a quick stop, and then on to a small, tiny room in the back end of the basement. It had an old sofa, worn out and partially torn. It looked like it once had been an office of some kind. He flopped down on it and opened one of the bottles he'd grabbed from the kitchen, and swallowed a few long pulls of aged bourbon, relishing the burn. 

He stared up at the ceiling, which was a patchwork of cobwebs and pipes. He could still hear Sammy's voice, echoing in his skull. Dean had known when he’d made the choice that it wasn’t what brother would have wanted, he knew, but to hear Sam telling him hit him in the chest. He’d fucked up. He knew it then and he knew it now.

But it was a done deal, there was no going back. Still, he couldn't stop thinking about growing up on the road, watching over Sam, watching him go from idolizing him to pulling away to fighting him to abandoning him. He could see it happening all over again. Only this time, his dad wasn't around to take the brunt of Sam's anger and resentment. It'd be all on Dean. One day, he'd have to look into his baby brother's face and face the fact that Sam might hate him. The pain curled in his gut as the realization washed over him. 

He couldn't do this. He just couldn't. Dean didn't fucking care anymore. He was done. He took another drink then another and another ‘til the bottle rolled empty on the floor. He tried to summon the will to get up and go back upstairs, but couldn't. _Fuck it_ , he thought. All ever did was fuck things up anyhow. Kevin would just sneer at him and probably not resist the urge to point out to Dean he’d known right away Sam wouldn’t have wanted this, and Castiel would give him those looks all the while ignoring the fact that saving Dean ruined him, and Sam...Dean couldn't even think of Sam. He rubbed angrily at his face, becoming even more furious as he felt the wetness on his cheeks.

Then he reached for another bottle.

When Dean awoke he was surprised to find himself in his own bedroom. Then he vaguely recalled being half-carried upstairs, partially stripped, and being tucked into bed, Dean fighting half-assed every step of the way. His head throbbed, his stomach was full of acid, and his back felt as if he'd slept on a bed of rocks. Groaning, he got to his feet, tossed a pair of pants on, and went looking for signs of life.

"You're awake, I see," Castiel said when Dean exited his room, almost crashing into him, and Sam, who was in the baby sling. Castiel's face looked drawn, worry settled heavily on his eyes, and his lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm sorry I interrupted the "important shit" you were doing last night," Castiel continued, and Dean almost snorted when Castiel used the finger quotes again, but stopped himself in time. Probably the best idea, since Castiel looked ready to beat him, and in his condition, the bastard would probably win. "But it occurred to me that we might have obligations to attend to and I figured you'd be willing to postpone _death by alcohol poisoning_ to a more convenient time."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean said, slumping in defeat, leaning over to steady himself on the wall. He tried to look at Sam, but couldn't. Maybe in a while. "I'm sorry. Wasn't tryin' to drink myself to death."

"Is that so?" Castiel asked, even though his tone indicated he thought Dean was full of shit. "You should take a shower. I no longer have the capacity to block out smells that are repugnant."

"Tryin' to tell me I stink?" Dean asked, amused despite himself. "I smell like roses."

"If roses smell like stale alcohol and vomit, then I hope you never see fit to give me any," Castiel replied, and gripped Dean's arm, and steered him toward the shower room. "I've got it on good authority that showers make you feel better."

"Okay, okay," Dean said, because when he chatted with Castiel, his mind went blissfully blank for a while and he could ignore everything else. "I'll take a shower. And after that?"

"After that, come find me," Castiel said, and left Dean standing there alone.

Dean decided that, maybe this once, he should just listen to Castiel and do what he said without a fight. And with that, he pushed his way into the shower room. He could smooth things over with everyone later.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is [here](http://darthkrytie.tumblr.com). Follow if you'd like. 
> 
> Playlist (I'll update as I post chapters):
> 
> Wherever I May Roam, Metallica  
> My Friend of Misery, Metallica  
> The Unforgiven, Metallica  
> Burden In My Hand, Soundgarden  
> Somewhat Damaged, Nine Inch Nails


End file.
